Band Together
by True Colours
Summary: Alex never expected to find himself playing guitar on-stage with two geeks, a chav, a pink-haired rocker and an ex-self harmer, but here he is. Exactly how is this going to save a teenage poet from death at the hands of the so-called deceased?
1. Part One, Prologue

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Alex Rider, that film would have been the biggest breakthrough in cinema since Snow White, and it wasn't, therefore i don't own Alex or any other characters in the series.

**A/N, 28/07/11: Hello, guys. It's been a while now (^^;) since I wrote the early chapters of this fic, and to put it bluntly, THEY PAIN ME. So as of now, editing is in progress. I'll just be replacing the chapter content as I go along because it's not worth a new fic, but I'll be keeping the un-edited versions in case anyone…really wants to read them for some reason…I don't know. Anyway, forgive my fourteen-year-old self!**

**Prologue – Talk About Concern for Employees' Mental Health!**

Ash sat in the hallway outside the office, rubbing his hand wearily across his eyes. He didn't feel ready for a new assignment. He didn't feel like anything. Since his encounter with the Rider boy, another part of his already crushed and failing soul had died. He kept thinking of the disgust that had filled Alex's face as he learned the truth. It wasn't remorse he was feeling, just a deep sense of lethargy, almost despair. A desire for this whole mess called life to be over.

His stomach twinged. _Not now_, he moaned in his head. He didn't have the strength to deal with the pain, or with anything else.

Somewhere, a clock chimed three. That was the time for his meeting. He stepped forward, feeling a flicker of apprehension. He had failed again. First with MI6 and now with Scorpia. But surely the damage was not so great? He was finished as an undercover agent, but he could still be useful in any number of ways...if only he could shake of this mind-numbing heaviness...

_Scorpia never forget. Scorpia never forgive. _

He entered the office. Two people were sitting behind a smoked glass table. One was Julia Rothman, and Ash felt a little relieved. She too had lost to the Rider boy. She was a woman. She would be merciful. The other man was Doctor Three, the world expert on torture. Slowly Ash took his seat. His superiors gazed serenely away and refused to speak. Finally Ash growled:

'You have an assignment for me?'

'Yes,' Julia Rothman confirmed. 'A simple assassination. Routine. But before we begin with the briefing, I would like to introduce you to your partner for the mission.'

'If the job's so easy, why do I need a partner?'

'Ash, please. As soon as he arrives, I will explain everything.'

Ash waited. Behind him, the clock chimed five past. The door opened once again.

Ash saw the man framed in the doorway, and hope died. It was Yassen Gregorovich. So they knew. They knew his mental state. They knew he had failed. And now they were going to play with him, watch him suffer with this man who had ruined his life. This was the beginning of the end.

Yassen slid into the chair next to him and Ash suppressed a shudder. He glowered at the woman across the table. There would be no mercy from her. She was a snake, a demon. She was smiling.

'To answer your question, Ash. Firstly, Mr Gregorovich was recently injured in the field. This assignment will allow us to be sure that he is fit for operations.' Yassen stared indifferently ahead. 'Secondly, this mission should be risk free, but there is one complication. The death must seem accidental. And the more guns in one town, the more accidents will happen.' She sighed theatrically.

Ash watched Yassen, his eyes black with hate. _How does it feel, Gregorovich? _he thought. _How does it feel to be robbed of your health in the prime of life? It's what you deserve._

'Who is the target?' Yassen asked.

'Have you ever heard of Clara Foster?' Doctor Three said. He produced a colour photograph and slid it across the table. It showed a girl of sixteen or seventeen, with thick dark hair, walking along a leafy road. The girl was in school uniform. She was half-turned, mouth open as if to speak. She might have been talking to the tall, brown-haired figure half-in and half-out of the picture. It was hard to tell; all the other people in the photograph were blurred.

'You don't need to worry about him,' Doctor Three said, noticing Ash peering at the blurred boy in the foreground. 'This photograph was taken as the target was coming out of school. The other figures are merely classmates.'

'What has she done?' Ash managed. He knew he could kill this girl, yet he felt sick.

'She is a writer and poet. Not particularly wealthy, but she has written a short novel which has gained her a little notice in the literary supplements, and has also published a volume of poetry. It is this poetry that has upset our client.'

'Some poetry,' muttered Ash.

'The man is a fanatic, certainly, but he has the money to pay and that is what matters to us. She criticises the tendency of the West towards self-loathing, points out that imperfect democracy is better than dictatorship, et cetera. But the content of her books and our client's opinions are irrelevant. lives in a small town and she is not a risk taker, so you will have to give some thought to how you will achieve your objective. You will fly over from Rome as soon as there is a lull in our more demanding operations. You will stake out her school and her home, and watch for an opportunity. Run her over or something.' Rothman and Doctor Three stood simultaneously.

'I have prepared a file for each of you,' Three said, handing each of them a folder. 'That is all. You may leave us.'

Yassen took his folder and rose fluidly. Ash stared in disappointment. The man was nowhere near dead. He was older, seasoned and cold. More deadly than ever. But as he turned away, Ash caught something in his eyes: the merest flicker of doubt. _Just you wait, Gregorovich,_ he thought. _You may have survived unscathed this time, but you're first serious injury always leaves its mark. You were a young man, and now you're not. From now on, your nerve will fail. It's the beginning of the end._

Both men stepped out into the September sun, and hurried away from each other as quickly as possible.

Miles away, in England, Clara Foster was practising the piano.

**A/N: YES! My first fanfic chapter ever! I quite literally dashed this off in my lunch hour school, and it is a miracle I managed to upload because there are drills going off everywhere! If you can think of a better title, please say!**

**28/07/11: The one thing I can't really sort out is the ages. They need to be seventeen so that they can drive the Claramobile in later chapters, but if three years had passed since Eagle Strike Yassen would be more over his bullet wound than he is. If I was seriously re-writing I might cut out the car, but as it is, just try to role with it. Thanks, leiblings!**


	2. Chapter 1: Living Hell

**Disclaimer: **Don't own them.

**Chapter One: Living Hell**

Alex was seething. Why had he even got in the car in the first place? When the black Mercedes with its tinted glass had pulled up outside his school as he was unlocking his bike, he should have ignored it and cycled like hell. MI6 might be comprised entirely of jerks, but they wouldn't really gun him down with a stun dart in broad daylight.

Alex glanced sideways at the burly, cold-eyed driver sitting next to him and sighed. _Forget it,_ he thought. _Of course they would_.

Well, he might have got into MI6's car, but there was absolutely no way he was accepting anything they suggested. What was the worst they could do? Send him to a children's home, like they had threatened the first time? That would be a relief compared to that room in Bancok.

Inwardly, Alex winced. _Don't even go there._

Fifteen minutes later he and his escort were walking up the windowless corridor to Blunt's office.

'In you go,' said the man accompanying him, and left. Alex didn't take a chance. He went in firing.

'What the hell are you playing at Blunt? I told you no, you're always dragging me into this and it's pure hell each time, well I don't think anything you can do will be worse than sitting around waiting for them to slice off bits of you to sell, and if you try to make me I'll say no, I'll sell you to Scorpia, I'll...'

He slightly ran out of steam at this point, and flopped into the chair in front of him.

'And now,' said Blunt, 'if you are quite done, let me run over the mission.'

'Not doing it.'

'You won't even have to come out of school, Alex,' Mrs Jones soothed.

'Oh yeah?'

'Listen Alex. We want you to go in and keep an eye on a school girl for us.'

'What? As in, a Point Blanc kind of schoolgirl?'

Mrs Jones shook her head briefly. 'She attends a state school in Essex. She's published some writing that has got some people annoyed...'

Alex listened in disbelief as Mrs Jones explained.

'So why can't you just send in an ordinary agent to tail her?' he cut in finally.

'Because it would be difficult to put him into the school without anyone noticing.'

'So let them notice! Assign her a body guard.'

'We could do that, yes. But you see, Alex, we were rather hoping to catch the assassin sent after her.'

'Catch them?'

'Catch or kill. Which is why we will be giving you a gun.'

Alex sat up a little straighter. 'A gun? That's a departure from tradition, isn't it?'

'A little, I suppose. If you take the job.'

'Which I won't.'

'So that's it? You're going to leave a young girl to fend for herself against a criminal organisation?'

'That's not going to work. You said yourself that you could just as well use an ordinary...wait a minute! Criminal organisation? As in SCORPIA?'

'I have often said you have the mind of a spy, Alex,' Blunt remarked.

'You're a headcase, Blunt,' Alex said. Blunt sighed.

'And we will, of course, be paying you.'

Alex blinked in shock. Money was tight at home, he knew. Ian had left him with a sizable capital, but there had been no income since he had been killed, and he knew Jack's salary wasn't getting paid.

'How much?' he demanded.

'Name your price, Alex.'

'A hundred thousand.'

'Considering the number of operations you have completed for us, that seems…not unreasonable.'

Alex shook his head in disbelief. How could this be happening again?

'So will you accept the contract?' Blunt slid a sheaf of legal documents and a gleaming pen towards him. Alex hesitated.

'You'll be in no danger, Alex,' Mrs Jones reassured him. 'They're sure to send only a junior assassin on a simple assignment like this, and such an agent won't even know who you are.'

'And you want me to shoot the guy, right?' Alex muttered, rolling the pen between his fingers.

'I doubt it will come to that. We will be sending in an SAS unit with you, and once the assassin has been spotted they will take care of him or her. You only need to watch the girl during school time. Your gun will be merely a precaution.'

_Why the hell am I doing this?_ Alex thought. But it was no good. He was in too deep with MI6; deep down, he had always known it. He scrawled his signature on the line and instantly Blunt was whipping the papers away and shuffling them into an envelope.

'Who am I working with, anyway?' Alex asked as Blunt sealed the envelope. It might look ordinary but in truth the envelope was virtually untearable and would need a special chemical to break it open.

'You're old K Unit,' Mrs Jones said evenly, unwrapping a mint.

'What?' Alex yelped. Admittedly Fox and Wolf had been alright on previous encounters, but still...

'You leave in three weeks. Scorpia has not made Clara a top priority; we have a little time to organise ourselves. Now, obviously you could just trail her around, but it will be easier if you can befriend her. She is in the higher sets for most subjects, so between now and when you leave you will be given intensive teaching to help you catch up the schooling you have...ah... missed. So that you will be able to share lessons.'

Alex stared at him in horror.

'As to this business of friendship. I think it is vital that you and Clara share an interest. She is a keen musician. She sings in a classical choir, but she also has interest in popular music, so I propose to give you a crash course in singing and bass guitar. Just to give you something to talk about.'

Alex sank back in the chair and groaned. He had signed himself into hell. Pure, living hell.

**A/N: That is not my opinion by the way. I love music! Yes, another chapter done!**


	3. Chapter 2: Not so Bad

Disclaimer: Almost all the characters in this chapter are MINE!!! But sadly not the awesome ones.

The first week of September saw Alex outside the school that he would have to join. Everything felt surreal, the new uniform, the leafy Essex road, the unfamiliar weight of the bass on his back. A group of girls paused, looked him up and down and giggled. God, he must look stupid, with his little guitar and no idea where he was supposed to go. The receptionist put his instrument in a locker and pointed him to his new form room. 'First door on your left after the glazed link. You can't miss it.' Only it turned out you could. Because ten minutes later he was still trailing round the school.

All the other students had disappeared, and he suspected that he was very late for registration. Close to desperation, he broke into a jog, sprinted around the next corner and through a set of double doors...and then collided very hard with someone on the other side.

Alex staggered backwards, winded from the collision, clutching the door handle for support. The floor around him was covered with pristine exercise books. A groan came from around his feet.

'Oh, bloody hell!'

His eyes widened as he registered who he had knocked down. It was Clara Foster.

'Oh God I'm sorry!' Alex yelled, kicking himself mentally. He knew how stressy some of these girls got; chances were she'd never speak to him again. Fabulous.

'You new?'

'Yes,' he answered cautiously.

'Well, just don't try sprinting through those doors again,' Clara said, getting gingerly to her knees. 'There's a blind corner and you'll almost always crash into someone.' She grinned ruefully and began gathering up the exercise books.

'Oh, thanks for the warning. Let me help you with that.' Together they gathered the books and stacked them up.

'So where are you taking these?' Alex asked.

'Upstairs. My form tutor's getting the slave-labour going early this year.'

'Cool. Look, do you know where room M4 is, 'cause that's where I'm supposed to be going.'

'Yeah, that's my form room. Come on.'

She led him at a run up two flights of stairs.

'I always take stairs two at a time, it's quicker.'

They walked down a short corridor and into a classroom. Inside was mayhem. The register had already been called and the form had just succeeded in tying two boys together with tape, which reminded Alex unpleasantly of his double life. He checked in with the form tutor, Clara dumped her exercise books and they made their way to the back of the room.

'So what's your name?' Clara asked, leaping over a leg which someone stuck in her path. Alex noticed that the whole room seemed to regard her with a vague air of hostility. Of course, as an intelligent musician she would probably come under the 'boffin' category. A category into which he would shortly be flinging himself. Alex sighed.

'Hey! Your name?'

'Oh, Alex,' he grunted.

'Cool, I'm Clara.'

Alex nearly said, _believe me, I know,_ but stopped himself in time. They sat down at the back and Alex tried to talk, but the truth was that he actually had no idea what to say to someone like Clara. The conversation fizzled out and Clara was just reaching into her bag for a book when the classroom door opened again.

'Taylor, you're late!' their form tutor snapped.

'Soz, Sir, my bus broke down,' the new arrival said. He had gelled brown hair and a strong Essex accent. As he turned from the teacher a tall, slouching boy stepped in front of him.

'Hi, Taylor.' The boy's voice was taunting but unsure. Alex understood. Taylor's status was uncertain, and it would be decided in the next few seconds.

'Hey, man, how's the football been goin' ?' Taylor asked. The perfect response. The boy couldn't resist the opportunity to talk about himself.

'Aww, the last game was awesome man, that minger from the other team, he came at my goal and tried a header and stacked it well bad.'

'Neeow doink!' Taylor yelled, doing a graphic imitation. The class laughed appreciatively and the danger was over. People returned to their conversations and Taylor made his way casually across the room to where Alex and Clara were seated.

'Hello Caaalara,' he drawled mockingly. Alex looked from one to the other and sighed. He supposed he would have to dive in and defend Clara and then he would be branded as a boffin lover for the rest of his time here. Fun. He was just about to speak when Clara grinned.

'Yo Taylor.'

Alex felt weak with relief. Taylor jumped over the desk and sat down on Clara's other side.

'Who's this?' he asked.

'Um, this is Alex, he's just moved here.'

'Awesome, I'm Taylor.'

Within minutes the two boys were having an animated conversation about football. Alex couldn't remember the last time he'd had a nice, sensible talk with someone who still thought he was normal. After a while he tentatively mentioned his bass, Taylor said he played guitar and the conversation swelled to include all three of them. Alex grinned and allowed himself to relax. Maybe this mission wasn't going to be so bad after all.

A/N: Sorry I had to remove this, there was a horrific incident with me misspelling Taylor and generally not proofreading...*slaps wrist* bad author!

Always, ALWAYS proofread, guys.


	4. Chapter 3: The Beginning of the End

**Disclaimer: **You know the drill.

Clara, Taylor, Roberta, Josh and Jane are MINE, so don't touch them!!!

**Chapter 3: The Beginning of the End**

_The beginning of the end..._

Curiously, Yassen was thinking much the same as Ash about his career, though it wasn't the wound that was bothering him. _Live life as though it's your last day_, Yassen brooded, as they checked into a B&B in rural Essex, _is a ridiculous piece of advice, and liable to get you killed._ Whenever someone in his line of work divulged a secret, Yassen knew, the chances were that it would at some point reach unfriendly ears. There was no way you could stop this process, you could only minimise it by giving out your secrets very, very carefully. Recently, Yassen had told a very secret secret indeed to a highly dangerous MI6 operative. This was not his usual practise, but he had known that very soon he would not care who knew his secrets because he would be dead.

Or at least, that was what he had thought at the time, but he had survived, and now Alex Rider knew the true extent of his emotional ties to him and his father. In the wrong hands, that knowledge was a powerful weapon against him, and an assassin cannot afford to give people powerful weapons. On Air Force One he had thought he was living the end, when in fact he was creating it.  
Ash's stomach was hurting. A dull, steady ache that felt like his insides were being filed. He stared across at the Russian and wondered if he was totally invulnerable.

* * *

'No Alex, second fret. And if you lift your wrist away from the neck...like this...it's much easier to press the strings down properly.'

'But that hurts!' Alex protested, twisting his wrist at an angle he wouldn't have thought possible two weeks ago.

'Aptitude is pain, Alex.'

Alex looked up from his bass guitar at the girl who was instructing him. At first glance, Roberta was stunning, confidant and terrifying, just short of six feet tall, with a mane of tousled black hair, streaked with pink, that fell past her waist. But her dark, hunted eyes reminded him uncomfortably of Ash. She would sit with her arms wrapped round herself and her eyes on the floor, or bite her nails, eyes flickering around, until she began to teach him, when she would become gradually more absorbed and more confidant with it. She carried her acoustic guitar everywhere with her, and would pull it out and strum it at odd moments. Alex could tell it was a nervous habit, something to do with her hands, and it was probably how she'd got so good. Alex felt he'd learnt more these last two weeks, during minutes snatched in the canteen or the library, than in all his torturous hours at MI6.

'Hell yeah, aptitude is pain,' the boy sitting opposite Alex agreed. His name was Josh and, as always, his fingers were stained with oil pastel and curled round a pencil. He was heavily built, and had told Alex that he worked out a lot, 'for stress relief.' Even though it was sweltering in the canteen, he had not removed his blazer.

Alex was trying to ignore the stares that holding a guitar in the middle of the canteen was causing. Most people had got used to it by now already. Alex was feeling exhausted, trying to keep up with top-set work after his time out of school, trying to learn enough bass to call himself a player, trying to understand a whole new world: the world of the musician.

However, he had discovered that Clara didn't seem to fit in with the other intellectuals and musical types (or the Ridiculously Gifted and Beautiful, as she called them) any more than with the normal, boffin-despising people.

'They never want to _talk_ about music,' she had tried to explain. 'Or writing or whatever else they're good at. It's all just like, _lipgloss_ and stuff.'

'What about...uh, I dunno...Jane and that lot?' he had asked. Jane seemed pretty keen to discuss almost anything.

'Yeah, but she's so domineering, thinks she's the centre of the universe. And what I don't like is how everyone else just takes it. Anyway, she hates me.'

That certainly seemed true enough to Alex. He remembered vividly the fight that had taken place on his third day, in the library:

_Clara knew the librarian well, and so she and her friends were allowed to relax on the soft blue chairs in the Fiction section. Roberta was even allowed to play her guitar quietly, if it wasn't too crowded. Alex had been lying across three chairs, catching some much-needed rest and listening to the muffled sounds of the rest of the school, when Jane and her friends had come marching in and ordered him to move his legs. It was a reasonable enough request in itself, but Clara was rolling her eyes like mad. _

'_And can't you shut that guitar up as well?' Jane had demanded. She seemed to be in a bad mood but, as Clara had quickly pointed out, there was no need to give the rest of them a hard time. From there things had kind of escalated into a debate about whether just because the librarian had allowed it, Roberta should be allowed to carry on, and whether orchestra (Jane was a keen violinist) was Real Music. Alex had said, in an attempt to integrate himself further with Clara and her friends, that he didn't think Jane cared as much as she said about quiet in the library, and was just giving them a hard time. Next thing he knew a book, a water bottle and a large folder were flying towards his head._

_He dodged all three items easily enough, and was feeling rather smug when he heard Clara scream:_

'_Jane! That's my coursework, you idiot!'_

_Papers from the folder were scattered everywhere. Jane was settling back into her chair._

'_A ton of music manuscript and all my French revision, do you have any idea how long that took me? No, you don't, you're not even listening!' Clara yelled, and hit Jane on the head with the recovered folder._

_Jane gave a yell, leapt up and socked Clara in the stomach so hard she doubled over._

'_What the hell was that for?' Jane shouted._

'_You wrecked my coursework!' _

'_Well come on, it's not that bad.'_

_Clara gave a wordless shriek and stormed from the library._

So Alex guessed Clara and Jane did pretty much hate each other. He'd spoken tentatively to Taylor afterwards, apologising for making the whole thing blow up.

'Jane and Clara's fights are ledge, bruv,' Taylor told him. 'I mean, Clara normally tries to keep a pretty low profile, you know, as much as she can when she's so totally weird, but sometimes she's just, like, kaboom! And it's usually at Jane. Don't worry about it.

He wasn't quite sure where Taylor fit into the whole thing. He seemed so normal, playing football and hanging out easily with the other boys in the form (there had been no more trouble after his success on the first day), and he liked to be around Clara when almost no one else did. They seemed to get each other completely, and Alex realised that he had just answered his own question. Taylor fit with Clara.

Why was another matter.

'Want an Oreo?' Taylor asked, and Alex gratefully put down his bass to take one, just as Clara sat down opposite him with her lunch.

'Sounding good Alex,' she said.

'Watch out bruv she's got that look,' Taylor muttered.

'Check this out,' Clara said, sliding a leaflet across the table. 'There's a stack of them in Music.'

_Pop, jazz and rock night at school_, the leaflet read. _Come and audition with cover performances or your own original songs._

'I think,' said Clara, 'that we ought to form a band.'

A/N: Dan Dan DAAA! Cliched, I know.

Please tell me, would you like to see more of Yassen and Ash's POV, or shall I stick with Alex and his...dare I say it...friends?

Also, I'm thinking of writing a short Alex/Yassen fanfic, would this be a good idea.

Cold&calm, is this what you meant by 'a story about Alex and Yassen'?


	5. Chapter 4: Music

Chapter 4: Music

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, AH is being very stubborn, so no rights yet…

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Rider Girl9, the first person to beg for an update. Also, I am now going to make all the characters 17, except for Roberta, who is 19. Don't argue.

I would also like to take this opportunity to thank Amitai for providing the characterisations of K Unit

Alex listened for arguments, but heard none. _Of course_, he reminded himself, _they are all mad as well._ However, there were some signs of doubt. Taylor in particular was wearing a very strange expression, a mixture of eagerness, resignation and fear. Roberta drew breath, and Alex hoped she was going to refuse to have anything to do with it.

'School concert? Kind of lame, isn't it?'

'Yeah, but come on, just because it's teacher-run doesn't have to be a total nightmare. At least it'll be a certain chance of having an audience. And I don't think we should just enter this, I think we should really start rehearsing together and writing songs. Come on, guys!' Clara looked round the table, eyes wide and enthusing. 'Josh can do drums, Alex can do bass, Taylor rhythm guitar, Roberta lead guitar, I can play saxophone and piano, and we can all sing.'

'I can't!' Alex protested. Clara turned to fix him with her eyes.

'You said you took lessons.'

'Only for the last couple of months.'

'Oh come on, bruv, it'll be fun!' Taylor urged. Alex already knew that if the rest of them went ahead with it, he'd have to as well. If Clara was going to be spending a lot of time away from her house, he had to be there.

'So are the rest of you in?' Clara asked. 'Come on, Josh,' she added, turning to the brooding boy who still hadn't spoken. 'You're well good at drums; what's the point of just sitting in your room playing?'

'Yeah, I'm in.'

'OK,' said Roberta.

'Hell yeah!' Taylor cried, always enthusiastic.

'Alright, but I warn you, I pretty much suck,' Alex sighed.

'Don't worry, bruv, Rob and I'll help you out,' Taylor said.

'Yeah, and if you really suck, I'll write your parts so low you can't hear what note they're on,' Roberta promised.

'Er…thanks.'

'Awesome. So, how much music have we got already? We can do covers, that'll be cool, but I think we'd have a better chance of winning if we do our own stuff. Provided it's good, that is. Taylor and I have written quite a bit, just vocals and guitar, that we could polish up, what about you guys?' Clara asked.

'I reckon I've got about three finished songs, they're like headbangers with a lot of electric guitar,' Roberta said. 'I got a few ideas kicking around too.'

'I write songs quite a bit, but it's mostly like rap or doom and stuff, not really what you're into,' Josh offered.

'Hey, it's not just about what I like. Alex?'

'Never written a song in my life.'

'Why'd you decide to take up bass in the first place? I mean, doesn't seem like you've thought about music much before recently,' Clara said, eyeing Alex closely.

Damn, she was sharp. He'd have to be more convincing than this.

'Uh, I dunno. Guess I didn't think about it much, but music just, you know, seemed like something I ought to try.' It seemed Clara approved of this. She looked away and carried on eating her lunch.

'Hey, Alex,' Taylor said, nudging him. 'I can bring you round a chord-book tonight after school, if you want. Get some practise in.'

'Yeah, sounds good,' Alex replied. He'd have to warn K Unit to lay low for a while. if anyone asked, the story was that Alex was Snake's younger brother, who Snake had claimed custody of. The rest of K Unit were Snake's flat-mates. But it was a pretty odd arrangement, and it would be better if it wasn't questioned.

* * *

It was Friday, and the air was full of weekend farewells as the five of them struggled down the crowded drive.

'Hey, Bobby!' A tall guy called from across the road. A crowd of sixth-formers were hanging round the school gates, smoking and jostling, and next second Roberta's face had hardened into a shrill shriek of greeting. She headed off down the drive at a girlish, skittering run, flinging a quick 'bye' over her shoulder. Judging by Clara's expression, the bye was more than she'd been expecting.

'Bye Rob,' she called, and then 'See ya, Josh.'

'Catch you later,' Josh answered, and mooched off towards his bus. Clara, Taylor and Alex clambered on board the rickety blue bus that took them home, clattered up the stairs and flopped together onto a back seat.

'Taylor, what the fuck are you doing?' a voice demanded with a heavy Essex accent.

Taylor turned to look at the speaker, a tall, hard-looking boy with a cluster of mates behind him.

'What, I'm sitting on the bus,' Taylor said, his voice harsh and whining. The boy who had spoken shrugged and stalked off to the back of the bus.

'My bruv,' Taylor explained heavily. 'I got another one at home. They don't go a bundle on the whole music thing.' Alex could see something behind the bravado, struggling to escape. But Clara changed the subject, so smoothly that Alex could hardly be sure she'd done it on purpose, and the rest of the journey home passed in happy banter. They had all agreed to meet at Clara's house on Sunday, to 'consolidate ideas' as she put it.

Taylor jumped off at his stop, promising to cycle over with the chord book later that evening. Clara and Alex sat in silence till their stop, and then walked up their adjacent drives calling vague goodbyes. Alex stepped into the kitchen of the house MI6 had provided. Wolf and Eagle were sitting at the kitchen table. Eagle had his chair tipped back against the wall and was reading the sports pages of the Times; Wolf was cleaning a gun.

'Hi guys,' Alex said cautiously. He hadn't seen either Eagle or Snake since the Brecon Beacons, and things were still awkward, though Alex found himself warming to Eagle.

'Hey Alex,' the man said now, greeting him with a cheerful smile. Wolf merely grunted.

'Should you really be doing that here?' Alex asked, nodding towards the gun. 'Wouldn't want to blow our cover.'

'Shut it, Cub.' Alex shrugged and fetched a cereal bar from the cupboard. All the extra work, both academic and social, was leaving him exhausted and starving. It wasn't just a new set of people he was trying to negotiate, it was a whole new world. He was trying to get into a set whose Brookland counterpart he had shunned along with everyone else, and there was a lot of catching up to do.

'You going to hang out here for a while?' Eagle asked.

'No, I've got some intensive guitar practise to do,' Alex sighed.

'I feel for you.'

'Oh, and I've got a friend coming over in about half an hour, so you might want to get out of the way, I don't know.

'Sure.'

'I'll warn Snake when he gets back,' Wolf said.

'Where is he?'

'Went for a jog.'

'Uh huh.' Alex walked to the door with his bass in one hand and his bar in the other.

'Oh, and Cub?' Wolf called after him.

'Yeah?'

'There's a spanking new Audi parked outside one of the hostels in town. Much too fancy for the setting. Daniels checked it out and the glass is bullet-proof. Looks like our assassins have arrived.'

'Right,' Alex said grimly, heading for the stairs.

* * *

Roberta's POVRob…

It was so different from what my friends called me. Normally I was Bobby. A cute, pet name, conventional, though Clara pointed out I had more right to it than most, seeing as Bob is short for Robert. When the teachers had a go, they called me Roberta. I hate it, it sounds cold and posh and fake, and when Clara used it she reminded me of all the crap, a lot. And there's a lot of crap.

'You want a fag, Bobby?' Justin said to me.

'No thanks,' I answered, wondering why I said that. The smell of the smoke was in my nose, starting the craving, but I thought maybe I should give up.

When I met Clara she was only in year 7. I think she admired me, but when I told her about my mates and all the trouble I got into and what wankers the teachers were, I could see the judgement in her eyes. _Be safe, be sensible, be boring,_ she wanted to say.

God, she was such a goody-goody.

But lately she seemed to be a different person. She stayed out of trouble, not because she was afraid but because she thought detention was a waste of time. She ranted about the teachers too. She had a disillusioned way of looking at the world, but it didn't seem as bleak as mine. Not as fake as the authorities, either. And that was another weird thing. I didn't think my outlook was that bleak, really, until just recently.

And now this Rob thing.

I knew what she thought of the name Bobby. Whenever I or anyone else used it, the look on her face said _child prostitute_. She wasn't very good at hiding stuff yet. But I liked the name Rob. It was individual, misleading, simple but it sounded like the kind of name you'd respect. And teaching Alex was cool. He was a sweet kid, and it felt good to know something better than him, and be able to help him with it. I thought of the younger guys. Taylor and Clara had such bright, fresh faces. I looked around my friends, already doped up with smoke, and wished, so little I barely noticed, that I could be with them. But Josh and Alex were darker. I already knew I had some kind of empathy going with Josh – I mean hey, the guy had _major_ issues – but I could tell that, as much as Alex tried to pretend to be an ordinary kid, there was something hurting him too.

Josh's POV

I had really mixed feelings about the whole band thing. I didn't really give a damn about making a fool of myself on stage, I knew I could play the drums well enough, but drumming and bass were things I did for stress relief; performing was a big leap from that. And I wasn't sure about the whole interacting/rehearsing thing. Clara was cool, she'd helped me through it all and seen things she shouldn't have had to see, but Taylor was different. Even though he tried to get along with me, I knew he couldn't get it because he didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to force him to be around me, and I was afraid of trying to seem normal and well adjusted for longer than the compulsory six hours of school.

And then there was Alex. I could tell that Taylor was so much happier around him, and that made me feel guilty. I knew that I hadn't been much company for him, all that time I was basically the only boy in the year he could relate to and that's not exactly a thought to help with insecurity. And then I wasn't sure about Alex himself. He seemed alright, how would he react if he knew what a weirdo I was. What weirdos we all were, in our own ways. I was afraid of what it would do, especially to Taylor, if he found he couldn't handle us.

So, songs.

I looked around my room. The walls were covered in oil pastel drawings, mostly done during my darker moments. I picked up my bass and started to strum.

_Taylor's POV_

I felt keyed up as I pushed my bike down the dark drive and into the road. It always put me into this kind of hyper mood, cycling in the dark, even though there was no real danger. I checked I had the chord book, then pushed off, picking up as much speed as I could and then freewheeling down the long hill. The wind was bloodyy freezing. It felt ace.

No point in denying it. I was over the moon. It was just fantastic talking to a normal guy who thought I was normal as well. I was even hoping that Alex might not be quite normal.

What I mean is that I was hoping he'd be weird enough to understand about music and stuff and why I liked Clara, while still liking normal things like football.

I hadn't had a sensible conversation about football for _ages_.

Well, with a bit of skilful acting I could get the guys at school to talk to me like a human being, but the fact was it was totally tiring and they were always subconsciously checking me out for warning signs.

You know. Of weirdness.

This had been going on since the unfortunate events of more than a year ago.

Don't get me wrong, if it was between Clara and music and being normal and football, I'd choose the music every time, but you can see why I was glad when Alex showed up.

I just hoped he was around to stay.

_3__rd__ person_

Alex heard a sharp knock on the door. He flung his guitar down gratefully and dashed down the stairs to open it. There was Taylor, hair windblown from cycling, his face breaking into a cautious grin.

'Yo bruv. Got the book.'

'Alex found himself grinning easily back. He stepped away from the door to let Taylor in. The other boy was taller than he looked and had to bend down to get through.

'Er, OK, my rooms through here…' Alex said, leading Taylor through the kitchen. Snake was sitting alone at the table, reading a copy of _Guns and Ammo. _Alex glared at him; could the man be any more obvious. Snake raised one eyebrow back.

They were interrupted from their staring match by Taylor saying:

'Er…'

'Oh, Taylor, this is my brother, Stewart. Stewart, this is Taylor.'

'And are your parents out?'

'No, I look after Alex.'

'Oh, right,' Taylor said, looking taken aback as Alex ushered him to the stairs.

'Are your parents separated, like?' Taylor asked tentatively as they climbed.

'No.' Alex felt a sudden wave of bitterness and didn't try to soften the blow. 'They're dead.'

'Oh crap!' Taylor exclaimed, stopping dead. 'Oh my Gawd, that sucks! Shit, I'm sorry.'

'Don't worry about it. It was a long time ago.'

They reached the top of the stairs in awkward silence.

Taylor sat down on Alex's chair and produced the chord book.

'You want me to take you through some of them now?'

Alex flopped back on his bed and groaned.

'I've been playing the damn thing for hours' he said. 'Let's talk about something else.'

'Er, OK…I'm gonna kill my bruvs when I get home?'

'Why's that?'

'Well, just 'cause they saw me and Clara together on the bus they went totally mental, right, acted like I was interacting with Satan or something, and I just get pretty fed up of it, really.'

'Taylor, why do you hang out with Clara, anyway? You get on really great, but if I'd met you on your own I wouldn't've said you were her type at all. And there was the way all the other guys reacted to you on my first day, I mean…what have you _done?_

Taylor chuckled darkly, staring at the ceiling.

'Oh, where to begin? Well, there was the time I hijacked my Dad's crane and…joke. Listen Alex.' He was suddenly serious. 'If you tell anyone about this I will cheerfully rip you guts out, OK.'

_I would love to see you try_, Alex thought wryly, but out loud he only said:

'I get you, bruv. What happened?'

'Well, I got into really big trouble at school. I didn't do anything really evil, it was just…I drew a dick on the canteen wall…'

'You did WHAT?' Alex demanded, sitting bolt upright. Taylor started to laugh.

'Yeah, that's pretty much what my mum said. Anyway, I was always in detention and stuff, and so were my bruvs, so she made us all sing in this choir for the entire summer term. You know. A church choir. Like, classical music and stuff.'

'Yeah, so?'

'Yeah, well,' Taylor took a deep breath. 'The thing was, after a while I started to like it. Clara was in the same choir and even though I always used to take the piss out of her, we kind of bonded. Most of the people at school don't actually know about the choir, but they could tell I was…different. You know, from how I'd been before. I didn't like having a go at Clara any more, for one thing, even though it's just recently I started hanging with her full-time. Used to drive her mad, how I'd be nice to her in choir and then not speak to her in school. And you know how people can just sense if you're weird, before you even open your mouth?' Alex was feeling rather uncomfortable; he had a feeling he'd done some of this 'sensing' himself, when he was part of the normal set. Before MI6 came along and ruined everything, he thought sourly. He understood exactly what Taylor had been going through; the cold stares, the whispers and sniggers and leading questions.

'So yeah,' Taylor finished up. 'I sing. I took up the guitar and got lessons and all that, and that's everyone's problem, basically.' He watched Alex apprehensively.

'Uh, wow,' Alex managed after a moment.

'Yeah, I know.'

'No seriously, I thought you were going to tell me you were gay or something, at least. So you sing, that's not a hanging offence.' Here, Alex decided to tell a small white lie for the sake of the mission. 'When I suddenly took up guitar everyone thought I was totally mad.'

It worked. Taylor's face relaxed into a proper smile. Alex grinned back and, in full clique-cracking mode now, picked up his guitar.

**A/N: Oops, all that came out a little clichéd, but now I've got my character dynamics worked out, at least. **

**I never intended this to be slash, but from that last chapter it seems like they're just begging to be together…please review and tell me what you think about that. I also need to know which of my OCs are most interesting and should be developed most. **

I know a lot of my reviewers want more Yassen and Ash, they are coming, I promise, I just have to sort out a few things first.


	6. Chapter 5: Collision

Chapter 5: Collision

**Disclaimer:** Guys, guys, guess what turned up in the post? I'm rich, I'm getting out, I'm…

Suckers.

**Further Disclaimer: **None of the songs mentioned are mine unless I specifically state so.

A/N: AAARRGGGHHH! So after the explosion of irate reviews in my inbox I am in manic updating mode, trying to get this done while grappling with exams on Monday, choir practice and my own original fic (my sister begged me to work on it…what could I say?). Plus the omnipresent homework.

Oh, and I now realise I have done something completely ridiculous with the timeline. Furthermore it is irredeemable. From now on, character ages make ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE! Do not even go there. Just try and appreciate the emotional depth of the story, because believe me, that is what I will be doing.

Shutting up now…

Animals have an instinct which tells them when one of their fellows is dying. They are subconsciously repelled from death and disease, from anything which might weaken them or their group. It is a kind of horror.

Yassen Gregorovich relied heavily on his animal instincts.

As Ash entered their room, he impulsively shifted backwards in his chair, away from the wave of despair that emanated from the other man. Yassen kept his sanity intact by maintaining a mind as clean and cold as an arctic plain, never feeling, every thought a calculation. Ash's mind was a festering mess of hopeless, circular thoughts, despair, resentment, pain and hatred, the product of fourteen years. Yassen never – hardly ever – hated. Hatred was dangerous, it clouded your judgement. Every time he looked at Ash his mind seemed to wobble at the edge of some abyss…Ash was at the bottom, calling…this was not guilt, it was just an example of what their line of work could do to you, something that Yassen did not care to be reminded of. And then there was the animal revulsion of the crippled. Yassen didn't like being manipulated by his own instinct.

'Someone's been examining the Audi,' Ash announced. His eyes glittered with spite.

Yassen's mind was already whirling, dissecting, considering possibilities. It was obviously the work of a trained agent; who else would notice their car's modifications? And if an agent had been sent out to counter their operation, MI6 had probably been forewarned. If that was the case, there was almost certainly a leak somewhere within Scorpia. Mrs Rothman would be interested to know.

If they knew that much, did they know who Scorpia had assigned? Were they expecting two such experienced agents?

Did they know he was alive?

'We shall have to be very careful. We could be in danger,' he said out loud.

'Scorpia will wonder how the intelligence leaked out,' Ash mused, watching Yassen sidelong. The man wasn't slow, but old grudges clouded his judgement. He was already searching for any way to discredit Yassen, his mind not on the mission.

'If you recall,' Yassen responded icily, 'I did suggest that we book in to a better class establishment. Then our car would not have stood out. It's too good for the setting, no wonder someone got curious.' He wondered briefly why he was letting himself get dragged into Ash's game of one-up. That sort of thing could only end badly.

He stared into the other man's eyes. Yassen had survived this long by remaining detached, by never feeling. Not anger, any more than compassion. He killed without mercy and only where necessary. It was when you dragged it out for the sake of revenge or sick enjoyment that the authorities caught up with you. It was when you killed unnecessarily that you left a trail. Ash's grudge was distracting him, and it was distracting Yassen. An angry man, a man in pain, is a danger to himself and everyone else, like a wounded boar that will savage anything it can reach. Suddenly Yassen couldn't stand to be in the room any more.

'Make a few calls; notify Scorpia,' he instructed, shrugging on his coat. He felt cowardly and disgusted, fleeing like this, but what else could he do? 'The target's school is nearly over for the day. I'm going to drive over.'

'Run her over.'

'If I can.' He slipped hastily out of the door and flung himself into the car. Ash dropped into his vacated chair and rubbed his hands over his eyes. _The target. _He wondered what the hell he'd got himself into…

When he pushed the button fourteen years ago.

* * *

Clara's POV

It was lunchtime. I was starving but food would have to wait; we needed to get a practice room before they all filled up.

Our meeting at my house had been fab; Roberta had shown us her rock-outs and my smooshy numbers hadn't been laughed at at all. I wasn't sure how Rob's were going to sound, they were so complicated we'd need hours of rehearsals to get them down before we'd know what they sounded like. But I was confident, provided we kept our minds on it. I hadn't realised we had so much musical firepower in the room.

In the courtyard I found Alex in 'conversation' with a trio of girls from our year. They had him kind of cornered in an inverted arrowhead formation and were pumping him with friendly/threatening questions. I felt for him, I had been in much the same situation myself, only minus the fluttering eyelashes. The poor frog clearly had no idea how to get rid of them. You need to snap at them very early on, or out-enthuse them:

'Hiya!' I squealed, rushing into their midst.

'Hi,' the most menacing gushed back. I could see grains of foundation clinging to her upper lip, and her eyes chilled me.

'Kirsten! You're eyelashes are looking very – ah – _prominent _today,' I returned smoothly. 'Anyway, we must dash. Ciao!'

Alex and I fled amidst a flurry of farewells and weirded-out glances.

'Thanks,' Alex muttered when we were out of earshot. He shared nearly all my classes and walked with me between them; he always seemed really keen to be with me. I was struggling to work him out. He acted enthusiastic enough about the music and didn't do that twitching-and-eye-rolling thing most people do whenever I open my mouth, but he just seemed so _normal_. He was OK at bass, eager to learn and picking it up fast, but he just didn't seem to have the musical psych. Favourite pieces, a basic understanding of music theory…or that sense of one-upmanship. However, that was something Taylor and I lacked too, one of the reasons we clung so hard to each other in the world of music. And frankly, it wasn't a desirable quality. Good grief, it was no wonder I had so much trouble making friends if I had to analyse then like this.

_Just accept that he likes you_, I told myself sternly as we entered the music block.

I could hear the sound of an electric guitar wailing as we entered the music block. Taylor, Josh and Roberta had all got there ahead of us, and by the sound of it they'd got the drum room. Josh had a hard, compelling beat going, Roberta had the amp turned properly up and Taylor was somehow making himself heard over it all. Even just the three of them sounded bloody fantastic.

'More cymbal, more cymbal,' Roberta was saying as Alex and I entered the room. I want like this compulsive rattle going on and on all through the verse, and then in the chorus you can really beat the crap out of them. Oh, hi guys.'

'Yo, sounding good,' I answered, dumping my sax on the floor and stretching my arms. 'Alex has written lyrics in _Espanola _for that tune I was playing last night.'

'Wow, that was quick,' Rob said appreciatively, turning towards Alex.

'They're not aboutanything much,' he said, doing that looking down at his feet thing. I just wrote whatever words fit the tune, basically…'

'They will sound awesome, Spanish always does,' I interrupted before he could put himself down too much. 'Asereje? Well, I guess we shall call it Asereje then. Guitars, drums and bass all present and correct? OK then, let's go…'

We'd just hit the chorus when the music teacher swept in shouting:

'I beg your pardon!'

This sounded ominous. We all stopped together…surely a good omen of our very professional attitude to be…and waited.

'Do you have any idea how much you are disturbing the other students?' she snapped, which was ridiculous as in the thin-walled music block disturbance from other rooms is just varying levels of loud, and we'd turned the amp down.

'Miss,' I started to argue (not something I do very often, it was vv scary), 'disruption during rehearsal is all part of high-school life and provides excellent training for…'

'I beg your pardon?' she repeated.

'Sorry Miss,' Alex said from behind me. It was easier for him to argue as at least he had the buffer of a guitar across his chest – it makes more difference than you would think. 'We can turn the volume down and practice more quietly.'

The teacher turned to smile at him. 'I'm glad that one of you is able to negotiate sensibly. I'm going to have to ask you to leave though,' she continued, speaking entirely to Alex now. 'Our song-writing club need to rehearse.'

Song-writing club…AKA a group who have managed to play the music system so that they can write songs and perform whenever they ask at a concert, entrance by invitation only…their invitation, not the teachers. Sadly I hated all their guts and had made the mistake of telling one of them that their riff clashed with the vocals all the way through.

'But – ' I began.

'Clara, are you wearing mascara?'

I was completely flabbergasted.

'No!'

'I'm sorry; makeup is not allowed in school. Go and wash it off please.'

'But I never wear makeup in school,' I protested.

'Roberta, you too.'

There was no point trying to claim that Roberta's fluorescent green eyelids were natural. We stomped down the stairs in silence, knowing that in our absence the boys would be made short work of. Rob scrubbed her face in black-eyed silence while I lounged against the wall and waited.

'_Are_ you wearing mascara?' she asked.

'Of course not!'

'Bitch.' Rob turned to me. 'You should, though…'

'Please, Rob, I'm not in the mood.' She rolled her eyes and we went back out into the corridor and joined up with the others.

'What are song-writing club?' Alex asked.

I explained.

'But if their not really an official thing,' Alex asked, after he had recovered somewhat, 'why do they get priority for practice rooms?'

'Because, Alex,' I said tightly, 'the world of music is one giant clique. This school contains one small branch of this clique, controlled by our teacher. I'm not entirely sure how it works, but talent is not enough. And she hates us.'

'She was nice to me after you left,' he told me. 'It was quite scary.'

'Normal girls like you, Alex,' I stated, 'and normal girls hate me. That is the fact of life. So she hates me and thinks I can't do music.'

'But you're way better than me!'

'But she _likes_ you, so she is willing to indulge you. Roberta she hates, because she's a good-for-nothing rebel – ' Rob poked me. 'Josh is not serious and only does it for stress relief…'

'Which is perfectly true,' Josh put in.

'She does not think you treat her subject with the reverence it deserves,' I summarised. 'Taylor is "going through a stage"…thinks he can sing, but really can't, not to be trusted with commitment, and me…goodness knows what she thinks about me.'

'D'you have to _analyse _everything Clara?' Taylor protested.

'It's like an anaesthetic. I tell you, this whole frikking department is one…'

At this point a loud, aggressive 'hey!' behind us made me stop.

Jane had just stepped out of the instrument cupboard, her violin case in hand.

'Yes?' I said carefully.

'Can I join your band?' she asked, just throwing the words out and letting them hang there.

'What?' I said incredulously.

'I want to join your band.' Silence reigned

'Not many people know this, but I play drums as well as violin. I've got some clout in the music department, I'm always helping set up the orchestra and I think I've more or less cracked this clique you think is conspiring against you.' She said all this in the same hard voice. 'Let me join your band and I can get you all the equipment and practice time you want.'

'And what's in it for you?' I demanded. I could sense the eyes rolling behind me.

'I wouldn't mind winning the band competition,' Jane shrugged. 'You're good, that's all.'

I understood. It would be an uneasy alliance for mutual gain; nothing friendly about it, but something about her blunt manner warmed me to her. As an unpopular person, you waste a lot of time listening to people apologising for excluding you even as they tighten their little circles to shut you out. This method was more efficient, to say the least.

'Do you play the electric violin?' I said at last.

'Yes.'

'Clara, it'll be perfect!' Rob broke in, 'if she plays the drums in Monster Josh can do bass and Alex can sing lead and Taylor can do that shrieking in the background that I want. It'll make us so much more flexible, having two drummers, and she can play all that cool violin-synth stuff…'

'Look,' I said. 'I can get along with you, Jane. I can listen to your points of view and make compromises. Can you…can you do the same?'

'Can I do what you say, essentially?' Jane finished wryly.

I gave up and decided to go for her direct approach.

'Yes.'

'Yup, I can.'

'Then your in,' I growled. 'Guys, you want to get some lunch?'

They were all looking at me like I'd introduced a live crocodile into our midst.

'Guys!' I said louder. They followed me hesitantly out of the block.

All through lunch they were watching me like I might go off. I was feeling anxious. I knew they didn't mind Jane nearly as much as I did; there was even a chance they might go with her in a fight.

Better get on with her, then.

But what do you do when two people like Jane and me collide?

Alex disappeared to take a phone call and came back looking all stressed out and twitchy. Rob fiddled with her fork. Josh was the only one who seemed unaffected by the atmosphere; he just sat back in his chair sketching Alex's set face on the back of his coursework. The bell rang and I tried to plough my way through an hour of incomprehensible chemistry theory for last period.

As Alex and I walked through the school gates I was still analysing the Jane situation, talking out loud to him and dissecting all sides. Alex was barely listening, scanning up and down the road.

'So what do you think?' I asked, nudging him.

'Look, I don't really care,' he snapped.

'Stress out then. No need to get so…'

'God, you have no idea, do you?' he yelled suddenly. 'You're so hung up over these tiny little problems, don't you realise how lucky you are to be alive? You can't even see what's right in front of you!'

With that, Alex ran away from me, out into the road…straight in front of a speeding car.

'Alex!' I screamed. And then I did about the most stupid thing I could have done. I plunged after him.

I managed to get a hand around his elbow just as he stopped dead in the middle of the lane. I crashed into him and we both staggered. For a moment everything was chaos, a mess of trees and road and sky in which the squeal of breaks was all-consuming. My eyes found the white line in the middle of the road and the world steadied. Adrenaline was coursing through me, and for a moment I could see everything. The frost flowers lacing the bonnet of the car, the silver hoops of the Audi logo, and the sharp black tread of the tyre, squatting uncompromisingly six inches from my foot.

The driver's face was blank. Still in shock. Bu this eyes were burning as he looked, not at me, but at Alex. Alex stared back, and I've never seen anyone go so white so quickly. I clenched my hand tighter on his arm, supporting him, but he didn't seem to notice me at all. His eyes were still locked on the driver's, and, bizarrely, I felt cut out. It was as though they were locked in their own silent moment of communication, as impenetrable as bullet-proof glass. I could only watch.

Then Alex whipped round, seized me in a vice-like grip and pushed me back towards the school. Around us the scene was only just un-freezing, a preliminary scream rending the air. I couldn't see what was happening. Alex drove me on.

**A/N: There, I updated, I updated, you saw me!**

**And this time SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED!**

**No thank you, I do not require a strait-jacket. **

**However all my 1****st**** person is coming out so clichéd and yuck. Please, if you get even the slightest hint of Clara becoming a Mary-Sue, flame me IMMEDIATELY and I will rectify it. And if she isn't, please reassure me. **

**Nobody has mentioned which OCs they like, so I'm afraid I'm just going to bore you to death with them all until I get some proper feedback, not just **_**'quite good, please update.' **_**And I just have to mention this because it is so awesome: the little dial used to set the temperature of my oven has come off, so my parents have been turning it on with a pair of pliers. It's fabulous!**

**Rider girl9: Thank you for your exploding review, unlike Amitai for example, I do sometimes need a kick in the ass to make me write. However, if you are reading this for Ash you will be disappointed, he annoys me and will not get a break. You really need to get a profile so I can reply properly.**

**Stressed-out author signing off.**__


	7. Chapter 6: Reappearance

Chapter 6: Reappearence

**Disclaimer:** Do not own anything except for the plot and my awesome OCs…so pretty much everything, really.

'Yassen Gregorovich,' Alex yelled, bursting into the kitchen of his house.

Wolf spat out a mouthful of coffee and yelled 'WHAT?'

'Yassen Gregorovich. Is here. To kill. Clara.'

'He was on the list of guys they warned us about when we completed training,' Eagle exclaimed, 'but he's…'

'Dead? I know, I saw it. But he's here now.'

'Where did you see him, Cub?' asked Fox, who seemed to be the only calm one in the room. Snake hadn't spoken yet. He was leaning in the doorway, eyes wide open and staring at nothing, deep in thought.

'He nearly ran me and Clara over after school today. And that's the other bad thing. I dragged Clara back into the school and now she won't drop it…'

'We'll worry about the girl tomorrow,' Wolf snapped. Something about the way he referred to Clara put Alex on the defensive, but he stayed silent. 'MI6 said there were two assassins. Did you see anyone else?'

'Only one in the car.'

'Why would they send _Gregorovich_ on a hit like this?' Snake burst out suddenly.

'That doesn't matter,' Alex said bitterly. 'The point is, it explains why MI6 sent us.'

'What do you mean?'

'Don't you think it's a bit odd?' Alex half-shouted, he was so angry. 'Them sending a full SAS unit and…me, just to prevent a minor assassination. They gave us orders to kill the assassin, didn't they? Well, obviously they want us to take out Yassen and whatever psycho he's got with him. I _knew_ there had to be something Blunt wasn't telling me,' Alex fumed.

'Little paranoid Cub,' Eagle muttered wryly.

'Trust me, they always tell me my missions are easy, routine, and it always turns out to be some guy blowing up the world.'

'We need to find out what we're up against,' Wolf announced. 'Go to their hotel and look around.'

'Tonight,' Snake added. 'If what you've just said is even slightly true, Alex, seeing you will have put them on guard.'

'Tonight, then,' Wolf confirmed. 'Cub, I'm not sure you…'

'Of course I'm bloody coming!' Alex snapped.

'Fine, fine,' Wolf growled. 'We'll go in tonight. And our orders were not exactly to kill the assassin, they were to capture or kill. So tonight will be a surveillance operation only. We'll see if the other guy is a known, check out escape routes, you know the drill. And not attract attention. British government sending out agents with instructions to kill is not something the public need to know about. We can't just barge in and start shooting.'

'Sir Yes Sir!' Alex and Eagle yelled. Alex liked Eagle; the man hadn't lost his sense of humour like some of these pretentious SAS MI6 men.

* * *

'Alex Rider,' Yassen stated simply. Ash simply stared at him.

'They sent Alex,' Yassen repeated slowly.

'How do you know?'

'I saw him,' Yassen explained, resisting the urge to add 'obviously'. He'd been feeling tense and strung-out the last few days, and it was more difficult than usual to keep his emotions under wraps, especially with Ash constantly provoking him. Yassen surreptitiously rubbed a hand over his eyes. The truth was he had felt uncertain ever since his…accident…during the Eagle Strike operation. He hoped that completing this assignment would restore his confidence. 'I nearly him & the target over outside the school gates.'

'You _nearly_ ran them over?' Ashe repeated. Yassen froze, realising his blunder. 'If you'd hit them the assignment would already be over. You're not telling me you _braked_?'

'Reflex reaction,' Yassen muttered. He tried to change the subject, to move on to practical matters.

'Now that they know one of us is dangerous, whoever is watching the target is sure to pay a visit. We need to be constantly on guard now, more than ever. We must avoid shooting at all cost, leave no evidence.'

'Thank you for sharing your groundbreaking insights, Gregorovich,' Ash sneered. 'Why don't we just change hotels?'

'Of course,' Yassen bluffed. 'I shall call Mrs Rothman to notify her.' As he turned away he heard Ash mutter something about 'apron strings'.

Yassen walked into his room and picked up his suitcase, laying it on the bed. On top were regimented layers of shirts and trousers, a bottle of Listerine, the normal things you would expect a businessman to be carrying. He lifted the cloths out, stacking them beside him, and removed the bottom of the case. Here were guns, a knife, the brown mobile phone which Alex had used to link him to Damian Cray – another stupid mistake exploited by a brilliant agent – two photographs and a violin case.

He didn't spare a glance for the photographs. He knew what they would show him and didn't want to see it. He did brush his hands briefly over the violin, but didn't get it out. He hadn't played for over a year and he'd forgotten it was even in the case. Anyway, now was hardly the time to practice. He fished out the mobile and hit speed dial. Straight to Julia Rothman. What would happen if Alex found the phone again, switched on, and…don't go there.

'Yassen?' Julia Rothman's smooth voice came on the line. She always liked to use her employee's first names. In the short term it inspired trust, in the long term it gave the listener a sense that she knew all about them, was twisted into their life, and finally it desensitised people to their own name, so that it could never be used as a tool against them.

'MI6 have put Alex Rider in against us,' he said without preamble. 'We believe he is working with assistance from at least two other agents. I propose we relocate.'

'Mr Gregorovich,' she purred. 'You will not relocate. If Alex Rider comes calling you will kill him and anyone who might accompany him. You will, however, exercise discretion in order to avoid questions. Your original instructions have not changed. Any questions?' Here voice flicked up to a light, deadly note at the end.'

'No Mrs Rothman.'

'Good night, Yassen.'

The phone went dead.

Yassen stood still for a minute, eyes closed, fingers curled around the phone. His breathing was accelerating. He felt panicky. Yassen gasped and his eyes shot open as a wave of horror and despair gripped him. And that forbidden feeling, hatred. The knife was in his hand…

Yassen looked down and saw the phone, his knuckles clenched to whiteness around it. There was no emotion once again; he looked for it but couldn't find it. The feeling had gone as suddenly as it had arrived.

'You think they'll come tonight?' Ash said from the doorway.

'I am certain of it.'

'Lets get ready for a fight, then.'

Yassen nodded silently, mind racing. But he could find no answer.

* * *

Alex sat, stomach churning, in the back of K Unit's 5-seater. He was dressed entirely in black, with a tiny earpiece attached to his ear. It was after eleven o'clock at night…not that it was any use expecting Yassen to be asleep. But the streets were almost empty. If they were going to carry out their operations unnoticed, now was the best time.

Alex wound down his window as far as it would go, hoping the night air would clear his head. He tried to remember how he'd felt about Yassen before seeing him in that car. Before Air Force One, Alex had considered the Russian to be his worst enemy. He had promised to kill him. And the man's post-humus effects on his life had been far from good as well: the whole Scorpia mess and Ash's stomach wound. But the fact was his last memory of Yassen was a positive one, if only just. He had told the truth, or his version of it, anyway. There had been no pretences in the cabin that day, just a dead man's last words, and the best window into his father's life Alex had ever been offered. Alex grimaced as he realised that the Yassen of his imagination had become almost like a mentor, his father's friend. A blurred and softened version of himself. Alex recalled the frantic squeal of brakes on the road that afternoon. Intentional or reflex? Alex snorted mentally. The man was a cold-blooded killer.

They parked the car half a mile from the hotel and ran the rest of the way. Alex's chest twinged a little from the old sniper wound, but he said nothing. They halted one street away and stood, breathing deeply, utterly serious.

'Right,' Wolf breathed. 'Fox and I will go in. Plant a camera in the hall, and a microphone outside their door. Eagle and Snake, I want you stationed round the back. You need to try and actually get a look through the window, get a description of this other person. The bugs will tell us if they leave, so we'll be able to take a look inside the rooms then. Cub, I want you to stay in the street. Keep an eye out for civilians and notify us if anyone gets too close. OK?'

Alex knew he'd been given the easiest job but he didn't argue. He knew what they were up against, perhaps better than any of them. He also knew that he probably had the best chance of surviving Yassen once he got going, but that wasn't really something he felt like sharing with K Unit either.

His thumb throbbed. He had been practicing his bass lines almost until it was time to leave, keeping his nerves down. He was kind of getting the hang of it; it could even be fun, finally nailing some tricky fingering, like a watered-down version of the triumph when you carry out a football manoeuvre, perfectly.

'Why do you like singing so much?' he'd asked Clara, before he saw Yassen.

'Well…I dunno really, it's just like…well, when you sing in a choir, sing some really loud piece, and you throw your whole self into it and just sing as loud as you can, and then sometimes it feels like the whole noise of the choir is coming out of your mouth, and it's really the biggest high in the world. Of course in a small choir like my church one it gets to the point where most of the noise _is _coming out of your mouth, which isn't quite the same thing…'

Wolf signalled and disappeared into the hotel. Alex abandoned his memories and concentrated, his eyes skimming the alley. He waited for five minutes, never once relaxing his visual, but nothing happened. He sighed slightly and was about to kick a pebble when he saw something. A flicker of movement. Someone approaching.

It was very cold. Alex's breath steamed in the air in front of him, and he could see regular puffs of fog that marked the other person's breathing. Alex pressed himself into the wall. A swift, graceful gait, the body of a dancer, face illuminated briefly by the street lamps…Yassen Gregorovich paused, glanced briefly around and entered the hotel.

Alex could tell he knew something was wrong.

'Wolf!' he hissed into his earpiece. 'Yassen! He just went into the hotel by the front door.'

'Right, we're getting out. Eagle, come round to the north side and get our backs. Snake, cub, stay put till we're out. You boys seen anyone?'

'We tried one window; nothing,' Snake's Scottish accent came through with a slight crackle.

'Try to check the other bedroom, but take no risks! Over and out.'

Alex stood where he was, edgy with waiting. Suddenly he heard what sounded like a cough, sharply cut off, and a grunt from the road behind the hotel. Snake! Alex considered alerting Wolf and the others, but if they were playing hide-and-seek with Yassen they couldn't exactly give instructions. _Alex Rider saves the day_, he thought sarcastically, already running in the direction of the noises he had heard. He skidded into the ally and froze, taking in the scene.

A figure stood with his back to Alex, holding Snake pinned against the wall. He had obviously just banged Snake's head against it; the man seemed dazed. At the sound of Alex's approach the man released Snake and turned. Snake crumpled to his knees but he was still conscious and put a hand out to steady himself. Alex noticed none of this.

'Ash,' he whispered.

'Alex.'

'You didn't die.'

The ghost of a grin flickered across Ash's face. 'Not quite,' he agreed.

'And how many more dead people should I know about.'

'This isn't a horror movie, Alex. Gregorovich and I are both alive. Nothing supernatural, just bad luck. For you.'

'And what happens now?' Alex asked, though he already knew the answer. There was no mercy in the man's face.

'It's kind of ironic, really. I don't hate you nearly as much as my partner in there, but this is my job and I have to get on with it. Get on with him, get rid of you.'

Ash took a step forward, paused, then lunged. Alex sprang backwards, then kicked out with as much force as he could. The strike missed but forced Ash to fall back, giving Alex some breathing space. Then Ash swore and twisted round as an arm locked round his torso. Snake was back up, one hand clenched on Ash's throat, the other gripping his right wrist. Then Snake cried out and released his chokehold. Alex saw a knife throwing back the flat, orange light, and black blood flying from Snake's arm. Snake hung on to Ash's wrist, trying to twist him into a headlock. Alex was just running forward to help when the other three came hurtling round the corner.

'Run!' Wolf bellowed, as Snake gave up fancy martial arts and headbutted Ash in the stomach. He had found the man's weak point. Ash doubled over, his face twisted with pain. Snake disengaged and lead the headlong flight out of the alley. They made the car in less than four minutes, flung themselves in and skidded away. After a few minutes Alex's brain clicked into gear and he said:

'Your arm…'

'First aid kit under your seat.'

Alex found the kit and passed it to Eagle, who swiftly dressed the wound. The knife hadn't penetrated as far as the arteries, but it had severed a vein and Snake's shirt was soaked in blood.

'Could have been worse,' he remarked, seeing Alex's eyes on the injury.

'Emo!' Eagle teased. Alex cracked a weary smile.

* * *

Back in the alley, Yassen – the cause of K-Unit's flight – was resisting the urge to strangle Ash. What had happened to Alex…

Already the weakness was showing, taking its toll. MI6 had already exploited it, whether knowingly or not. How long would it be before it killed him?

* * *

It was nearly one o'clock when Alex collapsed, fully clothed, into bed. He wondered if he would ever get to speak to Yassen, whether Ash hated him, had Wolf considered the possibility of an attack tonight…but his final worry was more mundane. Tired as he was, how was he going to focus in rehearsal tomorrow?

A/N: Pantpant! Another update! Exploding reviews do have their place in the great scheme of things! So, can I write action? I haven't had a whole lot of practice, but I think it could have been worse. Also K-Unit inspired by Amitai but infused with own personality. Good author! Excuse the Bridget Jones' Diary speak…I have been reading Bridget Jones' Diary!

**Randomness 0:** Jawhol, Kommandant!

Rider Girl9: One word for you: feedback. I want you to tell me exactly what you like about my story. And one day without an update is not really long enough to give up hope, I waited three flipping MONTHS for Faint Hearted by Scorpia710. However, don't stop the exploding reviews as they really do make the world go round.

To get an account, go to the top right hand corner of any page on Fanfiction, on the blue stripe above home, search etc, and click sign up.

WolfMonster0: GAH! I can't believe I made that stupid grammatical error, especially as I'm obsessed with not making it. Right, I am going to start proofreading if it kills me (she says, not proofreading). Glad you were paying enough attention to be surprised by the Jane thing. Same applies to you as Rider Girl9 about getting an account. I shall rethink the summary (a little help?)


	8. Chapter 7: Weird

**Chapter 7: Weird**

**Disclaimer: **I tried to make Yassen threaten AH, but AH just said he'd write Yassen into a genetically modified octopus, and he freaked out…

'Yo Rider!'

Alex had just stepped out of the front door, his eyes gluey with sleep, when Clara's voice sounded from over the hedge.

'Want a lift to school?' she called, voice dripping smugness. Alex ran quickly round and up her drive, and stopped. A sleek, metallic blue convertible was parked in the driveway.

'You like?' Clara drawled, practically skipping. 'I got my license a month back and thought I might as well celebrate. The royalties from my book just about covered it.'

'Cool.' Snake had followed Alex round, and stood running his hand over the bodywork. _That bloody poetry_, Alex thought. _She's already brought all the assassins in Scorpia down on our heads, and now she's going to take up the most dangerous occupation in the UK… _

'Mind if Alex rides with me?' Clara was asking Snake.

'Yeah, sure, why not?'

'And what in the name of arse has it got to do with you?' Alex demanded, giving his 'brother' a shove. He figured Snake couldn't beat him up too badly with Clara watching.

'Oh, get to school, I've got a lot of work to do,' Snake grunted, pushing Alex into the back of the car. Clara grinned and was about to get in the front when she suddenly paused, hand on the door handle, and turned to Snake.

'Wait,' she said. 'Stuart. What happened to your arm?'

With a jolt, Alex realised that the broad strip of gauze was clearly visible, wrapped around Snake's forearm. He cursed inwardly; would it have killed him to wear a long-sleeved shirt? Fortunately Snake didn't miss a beat.

'Slipped on a golf-ball one of my flatmates left on the floor. Went straight into a shelf of glasses.'

'Oh _ouch_!' Clara exclaimed.

'Yeah, stung a bit,' Snake grimaced bravely. 'I had to have a couple of stitches in A & E, but it's pretty much alright now.'

'If you _don't_ mind, can we please get to school?' Alex asked coldly. 'Only it's already twenty to nine…'

'Oh sugar!' Clara yelped, flinging herself into the front seat and buckling up. 'You're right! Well, see ya, Stuart. Hope it doesn't turn septic and fall off or anything like that. Got your guitar, Alex? Ciao!'

She turned fairly neatly out into the road and accelerated, the frost-laced trees whipping past.

'So that was your brother?' she asked as they drove. 'He seems alright.'

'Uh, yeah.'

'His accent is pretty different from yours.'

'He was adopted by a family in Scotland,' Alex improvised wildly. 'My uncle looked after me in London; I was born quite a bit later, obviously. When he died Stewart was coming down here to study, so he claimed custody. We live with three other guys from his collage. He organised that before he decided to look after me, you see. It's pretty good fun actually, only it gets quite chaotic. Like when one of the guys who golfs leaves his balls on the floor.'

Surprisingly, Clara sniggered.

'That's what that phone call yesterday in school was about,' Alex added, seeing a chance to explain away the car incident. 'One of the guys phoned me up to say Stuart had cut himself and they were going to casualty, but he was totally panicking and he just said that much then rang off. I had no idea how bad it was, you see, and I just freaked out a bit. Sorry about that.'

It worked. Clara forgot her interrogations and became sympathetic. 'Wow, that must have been pretty scary,' she murmured.

'Yeah, it was nothing life threatening but he did cut a vein. There was a lot of blood and I can see why they panicked,' Alex agreed, considering the concept of Wolf actually being freaked out by a bit of blood. Actually the phone call had been to warn him that the then unknown assassin was heading for the school. He sighed. More lies. He would have to fill K-Unit in on the story.

They'd reached the main road and were picking up speed, the needle passing forty.

'We're picking up Taylor and Rob on the way,' Clara yelled over the wind.

'Gah, it's freezing!'

'Well, we can hardly do the maiden voyage with the top up, can we?'

Alex was starting to enjoy himself. He balanced his bass across the seat and put a hand up, letting the wind blow through his fingers. Clara was more animated than he'd ever seen her, excited but totally focussed on the road. They slowed after a couple of minutes, and Alex saw Taylor running down his drive towards them.

'Yo bruv. Phat wheels!' he panted, slinging his guitar on top of Alex's and clambering in after it.

'Yo,' Alex and Clara responded simultaneously, and they sped off again. At the town boundary they picked up Roberta, who added her guitar to the growing pile in the back and jumped in next to Clara. Clara began to sing:

'There was a hole, such a pretty little hole, and the hole was in the ground and the green grass grew all around and around, and the green grass grew all around!' Taylor and Rob joined in, harmonising on the chorus, and Alex began to pick up the tune and sing it too. This felt different and more relaxed than his previous, outsider's idea of singing, just doing it spontaneously on the way to school. They drove on down the high street ('there was a tree') up the hill towards the school ('there was a branch') and did the final stretch of road in full chorus ('and the elephant was on the flea and the flea was on the feather and the feather was on the bird and the bird was on the egg and the egg was on the nest and the nest was on the twig and the twig was on the branch and the branch was on the tree and the tree was in the hole and the hole was in the ground and the green grass grew all around and around and the green grass grew all around!'), leaving a trail of confused-looking people behind them. The funny looks seemed to put Clara in an even better mood than before. As they drew up outside the school Josh appeared. He spotted them, walked backwards and did a comedy double take.

'Check out the wheels babe!' he yelled.

'Uh huh, oh yeah!' Clara chanted, springing out of the car into the midst of a group of scandalised looking girls. She looked them up and down, half amused, half apprehensive, and finally said:

'Morning guys.'

'God, you're such a freak,' one of them spat, glaring at the car. Clara shrugged and turned away. The others had climbed out and grouped behind her, watching tensely, but at her smile they all relaxed. With a collective breath the incident was dismissed, and they were just in the middle of exchanging morning greetings when someone called:

'Hey!'

Jane was walking towards them, school bag slung over one shoulder and an instrument case in her hand. Clara visibly rallied herself, then said guardedly:

'Morning.'

'Yeah, I was just saying to the others,' Josh started awkwardly. 'We're planning on meeting to rehearse tonight. In my garage. Nobody uses it except me,' he explained hastily, seeing her quizzical look. 'So we can fit my drum kit there and make as much noise as we want.'

'Well,' said Jane after a pause, 'that works out. After you said I could be in the band, I went and bought this. And, uh, looks like it matches your new car as well?' Tentatively she lifted up the instrument case and opened it. Nestled in the black velvet lining was a coolmint blue electric violin. It glittered in the sunlight beneath their silent gazes. Finally Clara spoke.

'That,' she said, pointing, and for a moment she looked exactly like Yassen Gregorovich warning Alex not to drop a test-tube of R5, '…is rather fantastic.'

'Glad you think so,' Jane remarked, closing the case.

'And you can play it?'

'Of course.'

'Awesome. So many new possibilities! Josh, give Jane the address, will you? Oh Alex, we're going to be laaaate!'

The six of them began to scatter to their separate classes. Jane stood where she was, closing up the case, her face blank. Finally she looked up, to find Taylor still standing in front of her.

'You need something?' she asked.

'No. And by the way, the violin really is cool.

* * *

'I think we need to take a more structured approach,' Yassen stated, pacing the room. 'We need to know where the target is going to be and when?'

'What do you propose?' Ash asked shortly. He'd had less than five hours sleep, all haunted with visions of Alex's face, and his stomach was hurting.

'We need to go to the school. Take a look at the records, if possible, and talk to the students. See if we can spot any advantage.'

'Sounds a little far-fetched to me.'

Yassen didn't respond. He knew this wasn't a real argument, just an excuse to disagree. All the same, he wished Ash hadn't spoken. It wasted so much time and energy, for both of them. He remembered Julia Rothman speaking to him after the death of John Rider:

'You cannot keep living with your memories. You need to detach. We can help you to do this…'

'Come on,' he said. If we leave now we can look around for half an hour before the lunch break, then speak to a few students.' Ash grunted in accent, and the two of them set off to the car. It was only as Yassen slid into the driver's seat that he realised something. That memory. He didn't actually _remember_ it.

* * *

They found a blue car licensed to Clara in the car park. That could be useful: a car crash was now a possibility. They looked quietly over notice boards and schedules, looking for after-school clubs and other things that might guarantee her being in a specific place at a specific time. Finally they convened in the corridor beside the canteen. Row upon row of plastic tables stood in the silent room. There was no noise except for the clock ticking away the last few minutes of the lesson.

'Anything useful?' Yassen asked.

'No. I think our best bet is to take the car and-'

Bbbbbbbbbbbbrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggggg

The school exploded. Yassen snapped into combat position and back again inside a second. Next instant they were enveloped by a seething, riotous crowd unlike anything they'd experienced for over a decade. They were buffeted from all sides. Yassen was used to dealing with confusion, panic and aggression, but nothing like this. A sea of volatile, frustrated, energetic beings, each totally oblivious to everything but the tiny group in which it moved, each hell-bent on whatever petty goal was in sight. The two of them forced their way to an empty table and sat, flinching away from the mind-blowing noise.

_Never,_ Yassen thought, _underestimate the adversary…never… _

'Oy!' Their table was surrounded. A group of teenagers stood glowering down at them. Obviously this was 'their' table. The speaker, a blond girl with a nose ring, looked them slowly up and down.

'You with Ofstead or something?'

'I…no, we're,' Yassen faltered.

'We're from the Telegraph,' Ash cut in smoothly. 'A feature. Young people today.' He looked the girl straight in the eye. 'We want a fresh take on what's really making the teenage community tick.'

'Er, OK, whatever you say,' she replied. The children sat down around the table, pulled out various foodstuffs and began to eat.

Yassen let Ash do most of the talking. He flirted subtly with the girls, drawing them out, bantering with the boys. Then one of the girls nudged her fellows, murmuring:

'Here they come.'

Yassen looked in the direction of her nod. He tensed instantly. Alex was entering the canteen, grinning, in conversation with a tall, brown haired boy.

'That's Alex Rider. He's _lush_, isn't he?' one of the girls sighed. Ash had obviously gained their approval.

'Taylor's fitter,' her friend said, administering a poke.

'Is not.'

'Is too.'

'I don't get those guys,' the first girl sighed to Ash. 'I mean, when Alex first came – he's new, you see – I'd have said he was pretty normal. Taylor too. They're nice guys…'

'Good footballers,' one of the boys added with his mouth full.

'But as soon as he arrived he made a beeline for Clara Foster.'

Alex and his friend had joined a table very close to theirs. Seconds later they were joined by Clara and two others, a boy and a girl.

'And Taylor, you know, he was always a bit of a rebel, really, but recently there's been all these rumours about him singing, like, classical music. And he and Clara were deadly enemies all through lower school, but now…' she shook her head in bafflement.

'They've started this huge take over the world thing with this band they've formed,' another of the boys told them. 'You see Bobby-' he nodded to Clara's companion, who had long, pink-streaked hair- 'she's a real cute chick, but she goes off and starts hanging out with that total boff…'

'They're just weird,' Nose Ring said decisively. 'That Josh Carter freaks me out.'

Yassen leaned closer to Clara's table, trying to catch some of their conversation Alex was sitting next to the girl called Bobby, both of them bent over an electric guitar. Suddenly she looked up and grabbed Clara by the arm.

'Clara, there he comes, look at him!'

Clara studied the boy in question for a long time, her expression serious.

'Well, he looks in excellent health to me,' she pronounced finally.

'Clara!'

'No strange symptoms manifesting themselves.'

'Stop it!

'Rob, he looks exactly the same as he did yesterday.'

'Ugh, you're hopeless.'

Clara shrugged, grinning. Just then a girl with glasses and curly hair appeared at her shoulder.

'Mind if I join?' she asked edgily. Yassen, his mind sharp for any weakness in the group, saw Clara roll her eyes surreptitiously. Taylor elbowed her sharply in the ribs and pulled his bag off the table, clearing a space. The girl sat down.

'Now give me a riff,' Rob/Bobby told Alex, who began to strum, haltingly at first but then more and more rhythmically. Yassen was intrigued by the guitar; as far as he knew it was a relatively new development.

'Hey,' said the boy who must be Josh, leaning towards the new girl, 'the address-'

'Afternoon, guys.'

The atmosphere around the table was instantly tense. Yassen quickly assessed the new arrival, a boy who bore a strong resemblance to Taylor.

'Heard you're rehearsing round Emo-boy's tonight,' he began with a nod towards Josh. Yassen listened more closely. A location!

'How'd you know that?' Clara hissed, her eyes dangerous.

'Word gets round, Froggy,' the boy drawled, sneering at her. He turned back to Taylor. 'You told me and Jason you were playing football with us and the guys tonight.'

'Yeah, well, I gotta rehearse.'

'You bailing on your mates now?'

'Oh piss off, Jet, you know if it was a proper game I'd be there. You're just hanging out, you can do without me.'

'Since when are you so obsessed with music?'

'You know since when!' Taylor snapped.

'You got a problem, Jet?' Clara demanded. 'Cause if not, bugger off.'

'Ohhh, language, boff-'

'Jet.' Josh fixed him with his silver eyes. 'Just go.'

Jet stalked off across the canteen. Taylor muttered something, looking miserable. The group ate without speaking for a while, then the curly-haired girl broke the silence.

'Josh? The address?' Yassen memorised the details as Josh spoke them, controlled satisfaction swelling inside him. He turned to find Ash watching him.

'I think it's time to go,' he said quietly. 'We have a lead.' Clara's friends had vacated their table and were heading out of the canteen. Yassen couldn't believe that Alex hadn't noticed him and Ash, sitting only feet away. But then he saw the boy give the merest backward glance, his face filled subtly with foreboding, and realised with a sudden chill that Alex was much better than he'd thought. Not only observant, but a very good actor.

Just like John.

**A/N: OK, so that basically sucked. I just about managed to manhandle Ash and Yassen into that scene, but I'm really not happy with how it turned out. I wanted to write a scene where they watch the band from a distance and see them interacting, but what do you think? Too rushed? Totally unnecessary? If you hated it don't just leave, flame me! Seriously.**

**No-one has given me feedback on Alex/Taylor or which OCs they like best. I have the basic plot worked out but there is plenty of room to alter the respective fates of the characters to your liking.**

**Wolfmonster: **Did I ever say that Ash thought yassen hated Alex? Don't think so. I dunno, I wasn't really sure what the Alex-Ash interaction should be like, so I kind of skated over it. maybe he'd have had one of those 'no, I can't bear to' moments, but he was definately in a 'must do it for the sake of my job' mood. Will consider summary. Click 'remember me for three days', that's what I always do! You are a very awesome reviewer.

**tzoomi:** I pense pe comprend. merci! (I think I understand, thankyou, in case your English is better than my French).

**Rider Girl9:** Yup, you may have noticed the (relatively) long wait this time round, due to lack of reviews of the exploding variety. No pressure to you either! Hope this answers your question vis-a-vis what A will tell Clara...she is too soft!


	9. Chapter 8: Rehearsal

Chapter 8: Rehearsal

**Disclaimer:** You know the drill. I can't even remember if I've made that joke before.

**A/N: Has anyone noticed how, in the books, Alex doesn't talk much. He thinks a lot, gets ranted at, comes out with the occasional sarcastic comment and that's it. I don't want him speaking the same dialect as the Essex chavs who's company he is keeping, but I'm not sure how he should talk. Suggestions welcome.**

They had agreed to meet at Josh's place at five-fifteen. It was getting on for five when Alex, slumped on his bed, heard a knock on his door. He was so tired. He left K-Unit to get it, mentally preparing himself to get up.

* * *

Snake opened the door.

'Clara!' he exclaimed, his face breaking into a smile. 'Good to see you! I'm sure Alex will be down in a minute. And this is…er, I, hi…' He faltered as Roberta appeared in the doorway behind Clara, his eyes taking in all of her well formed six feet.

'Hi, I'm Roberta,' she greeted him vaguely, looking round for Alex.

'Yeah, I'm Stuart…guys! Alex's friends are here!'

Alex entered the kitchen five minutes later, to the sight of Clara, with her ponytail falling out around her face, and Roberta, in a miniskirt and pink legwarmers, being entertained with coffee and digestives by a bedazzled-looking K-Unit.

'Guys!' he spluttered after a moment.

'Oh hi Alex,' Roberta greeted him with a million-dollar smile. Clara was perched on the counter next to Eagle, who was gesturing emphatically at a copy of _Guns and Ammo_ (_Could he_ be _more obvious?_ Alex thought.), clearly giving some sort of lecture. Clara was listening with a very serious expression on her face.

Catching sight of Alex, she slid down and hurried over.

'Well guys,' she beamed, 'thanks for the coffee…' (_Was it really necessary to simper_ _like that,_ Alex wondered) 'and I shall bear what you say about sub-atomic machine-gun ammunition-' she nodded to Eagle – '_firmly_ in mind. Shall we?'

She marched them down the drive, wordlessly unlocked the car, sat down behind the wheel and burst out laughing.

'They certainly seem very friendly, don't they?' Roberta remarked quietly. Clara snorted.

'Cool nicknames, too,' she continued.

'Maybe _Eagle_ will help me with my Latin coursework,' Clara sniggered, turning the ignition.

'Poor guy doesn't know what he's got himself into. _Guns and Ammo…_'

'The cultural barrier is surmountable, I am sure of it!' Clara declared. 'Sure of it! No number of rubber-plated bullets can stand in the way of true love!' She collapsed with laughter again.

'Keep your eyes on the road,' Alex begged, watching out of the back window for any signs of pursuit.

'Can do, Alex, don't worry.'

They drove for about ten minutes. Alex was relieved that Clara had decided to keep the hood up this time; it was freezing cold and getting dark. Eventually they drew up outside one of a row of houses.

Josh's house was on the end of the row, right next to a large playing field. Alex thought it looked rather grim, dark and pebble-dashed. Clara rang the doorbell and Josh answered almost immediately.

'Oh, hi guys,' he grunted. Jane was standing beside him, sheets of drum music in her hands. 'Jane's already here,' Josh said unnecessarily, gesturing towards her.

'Yes, I can see that,' Clara murmured, eyes fixed on the other girl's face.

'Josh has just been showing me how the drum parts go, while we waited,' Jane said.

'Yeah, cool. Got your violin?'

'Right here.'

'Alright, let's go then.' Clara seemed eager to assert control over the proceedings.

'Right,' Josh said, stepping out of the house and closing the door. 'The drums are in the garage, this way.' He began to walk round the back of the house. Clara followed at once; clearly she knew where they were headed. Josh arrived at a door and threw it open.

'_Wow!_' Jane gasped, frozen in the doorway. 'Josh, did you…did you do all this?'

'Well, yeah, I…' Alex couldn't see into the garage, but he could tell that Josh's voice and stance had become self-conscious.

'Josh does it all himself,' Clara dived in. 'Like his own studio. Good acoustics too. It's fab, huh?'

Jane moved slowly into the garage and Alex had his first view of the place. It was cavernous, unfurnished concrete, with a few chairs, power sockets, and electric keyboard and a magnificent drum kit. About a third of the walls was covered in paintings.

'This, this is incredible!' Jane laughed shakily, turning slowly on the spot. Alex stared at the paintings, awestruck. Across one short side of the room Josh had done a life-sized extension to the room. It was like those paintings you saw in optical illusion books, so real you might walk into the wall and break your nose.

'Ain't that a bit of a health hazard, bruv?' Taylor asked, walking along that wall. Josh stood to one side, feigning indifference.

'So you like it?' he asked nonchalantly.

'Its amazing,' Rob told him fervently.

'It's brilliant,' Alex burst out. He wasn't reacting to the paintings so much as the realisation that it would be impossible for a sniper to take a shot at them in here. The only windows were right at the top of the walls, impossible to reach or to aim through. 'Brilliant,' he repeated, trying to tone down his reaction, but the paintings had left him feeling weak and shaky.

For a while they just wandered slowly round the garage, examining the other artworks. Nearly all of it was done in chalk and pastel, but bright colours were everywhere. None of them were as photograph-like as the 'extension' – that didn't seem to be Josh's style – but you felt like you could fall into them. They were full of little details that kept you examining them for ages, but there was still something left to the imagination. Sometimes Josh had suggested an expression or figure with just a couple of light strokes. Alex found himself examining them minutely, fascinated by the way the pastel itself was layered on.

'Shouldn't we be rehearsing?'

Jane's voice seemed to be jolting him out of some kind of trance. Seconds later Clara's followed.

'Yeah, come on guys.'

'So what are we going to rehearse first?' Jane asked as they gathered round the drum kit.'

'I think Monster,' Clara decided. 'Rob's song. That's the one that was giving us most trouble because of the drum issue and who was going to do what part. So if you do drums, Jane, then Josh can do bass, Taylor rhythm guitar and background shrieking, Rob lead guitar, and Alex can sing.'

'Wait, what?' Alex yelped. 'Since when am I singing?'

'Well, it's either that or falsetto shrieking.'

'Like this,' Taylor said helpfully, and proceeded to demonstrate. Alex watched him headbanging with his face skrewed into a manic expression, feeling a kind of creeping horror. 'Anyways you couldn't handle the bass part, bruv.'

'OK, OK, I hate you all. Let's just get on with it!'

'Right.' Clara's words came out in a cloud of steam. It wasn't much warmer in the garage than outside and Alex's fingers were going numb. 'Rob, you know there wasn't much for me to do in this song, so I wrote a saxophone part? Nothing too obtrusive, just a bit of ornamentation round the chorus, if that's alright.'

'Yeah, fair enough.'

'So if we split up for now…Josh, if you and Jane can start work on the drumming, Rob, you can talk Taylor though his guitar part and Alex and I will work on the keyboard. Let's go.'

Alex spent the next hour first mumbling out the lyrics and then, in sheer desperation, singing them properly. It sounded godaweful. Clara was sympathetic about that ('I'm not surprised you can't get the feeling of the music just notebashing it on the keyeboard') but she was insistent that he put some kind of effort into it.

'You haven't been at this very long, have you?' she asked finally. Alex looked steadily at her, thinking of how much he knew, of why he was here, of this whole world of music opening up under his feet, of which he knew nothing.

'No, not very long at all.'

* * *

Ash crouched beside the wall of the large, concrete garage, listening intently. Inside he could hear some kid bashing on the drums, bursts of electric guitar, a lone voice singing. He ran a hand along the rough wall in front of him, tracing the long cracks. The building wasn't really safe. Not safe at all. Or so one could argue. Who would suspect foul play if it were to collapse suddenly, especially once the loud noises were taken into account? Who would guess at the contribution made by a small charge pressed into the crumbling wall? The fact that six teenagers had died would only draw attention away from the fact that one had been a small-time author. The perfect solution.

Ash was disgusted with himself, more than usual. Had he really come to this, killing innocent children without a thought? Did he care so little about John that he would repeat the crime, killing his son. Hell, even Gregorovich was better than that.

Three would be sufficient, Ash decided. Wait till Rider comes out with whatever girl he's decided to pull, in the true golden-boy style. If that girl happened to be Clara, to hell with them both. They could die together.

He took out a thin packet of explosives and wedged it carefully into the long crack in the wall. A few adjustments and he was done. The charge could be detonated at any time, as soon as Clara was in the building. He clambered to his feet and jogged back to his car to inform Yassen.

* * *

_Shit_, Alex thought, darting round the side of the garage. He looked down at the almost invisible charge in the wall. _Looks like we decided to break just in time._

'Anyone want ice-cream?' Taylor was saying. 'I think there's a van on the other side of the field.'

'Ice-cream in October? You must be joking!'

'I'll have one!' Clara called. The light-hearted voices sounded thin and eerie to Alex. He felt like he'd slid into a kind of alternate universe, without anyone else noticing. It was like some kind of horror movie.

'You are mad. The pair of you. Mad!'

'Clara, thou shalt freeze to death!'

'No, I should think the heat produced from respiration using the ice-cream will be more than the heat needed to bring the ice-cream to body temperature, so-'

'Shuddup, boffin. I wanted an ice-cream, not a physics lecture.' With that parting shot Taylor jogged off for the ice-cream van.

Alex had taken advantage of the conversation to slip into the shadow between the garage and the trees, and pulled out his mobile phone. Hitting speed dial he crouched down in the undergrowth and held the receiver to his ear.

'Cub?'

'Wolf? Listen, any of your top SAS unit know how to dismantle a bomb?'

'Don't be cheeky. I'll send in Daniels.'

'And Wolf, I think I missed whoever set it by about a second.'

'So they're still in the area?'

'Probably.'

'God, could you be more cryptic? I'll bring the whole unit in.' Wolf hung up.

Across the field Taylor was nearly at the van. A group of about five figures appeared over the fence and he broke into a flying sprint to get there ahead of them. Not a bad runner. Alex thought he'd like to test his own speed against the other boy's some time. Now to guide the others skilfully away from the bomb until K Unit got here…

As things turned out it didn't prove too difficult.

'ALEX!' Clara shrieked. Alex started instinctively towards her, expecting to see Ash clutching her throat, but she was pointing towards Taylor and Josh was already running in the opposite direction. Alex swerved round and tore after him. Even in the gloaming he could tell what the problem was: one of the new arrivals had just taken Taylor in a vicious headlock.

Alex outstripped Josh in seconds, wondered vaguely about the odds for a moment and crashed headlong into the boy holding Taylor's head, sending them both sprawling. He sprang lightly to his feet and struck another assailant just above the knee, probably spraining the muscle and knocking him out of the fight. To his left Taylor had recovered his feet and Josh was grappling head to head with another attacker. Alex knew he wasn't built for that kind of wrestling; he had to keep his distance, where he could lash out and the other boys couldn't use their weight…he caught another in the chest, but then a pair of arms seized him from behind and lifted him clean off the ground. Alex kicked the boy's knees out and they both fell. His opponent quickly rolled, pinning him to the ground.

He lashed out wildly with his heels. There were a few confused thumps and shouts from above him, then a loud bass voice shouted 'stop!' and almost simultaneously the weight vanished off his back. Clara and Jane had just pulled his opponent off him by the hair.

Silence reigned around him. Alex started to scramble to his feet, when someone seized his shoulder and helped him the rest of the way up. Snake. Alex craned his neck to see what had brought the fight to this abrupt close, and found that he, Snake and Taylor were standing behind a formidable line of defence. Eagle, Josh and Taylor's brothers were standing in an arrowhead in front of the attacking gang, with the girls forming the second line behind them Wolf and Fox hulked impressively to one side. For a long time no-one spoke. Then Clara stepped forward.

'Does any one of you have a problem?'

'With fucking gay boy back there? Yeah.'

'Fucking gay boy back there has got more talent than all the rest of you bastards put tog-'

'If you _ever_ talk about Taylor that way again,' snarled the older boy, who had to be Taylor's brother Jackson, 'you'll be eating my fist. You got it?' The other boy glowered but seemed to subside slowly.

'Now go,' Clara ordered quietly.

He rounded on her.

'Oh, go to hell you fucking boff!'

Jackson seized his collar, spun him round and gave him a kick which sent him staggering. 'And try anything else and we'll kick your asses from here to Hertford!' he yelled as the gang scattered. Jackson glared after him for a moment, then everyone began to gather slowly in. Alex noticed that his lip was bleeding. He sucked the cut absently, looking round for Taylor.

'Y'allright?' he said awkwardly. Taylor nodded mutely. Alex didn't think he trusted himself to speak.

'Headcases,' Josh muttered in disgust, intervening before Alex could embarrass either of them further. He seemed relatively unscathed. Taylor by contrast was already sporting bruises.

'Guys?' For once Clara sounded unsure of herself. 'Shall we go…'

'Taylor can ride with us,' Jet said loudly. 'Right bruv?' He didn't look at Taylor.

'Right,' Taylor agreed, mimicking his brother's fierce tone.

'And we'll take Alex.' Snake was laying on the charm, smiling, the kind of person one would normally gravitate towards in danger. 'You people will all be alright?'

'Yes.' Clara even managed to summon a smile. 'Yes, of course. See you, boys.' She sighed, hesitated for a moment, then began to walk away. Jane and Rob followed.

'Come on,' Jackson said brusquely. He seized Taylor by the scruff of the neck and began to frogmarch him in the opposite direction, but before they were out of sight Alex saw his arm go supportively round Taylor's shoulder. He was left alone with K Unit.

Wolf waited till everyone was well out of earshot before he exploded.

'For God's sake, Cub!' he shouted. 'Could you be more stupid?'

Alex stared sullenly at the ground, wondering where the heck Wolf was going with this.

'We've got a dangerous criminal to catch, we can't afford to hang around while you go rescuing your mates from every chav they've got on the wrong side of. The same goes for you, Eagle! You're fully trained, you should know better than to get sidetracked like that.'

'A unit member was in trouble…'Eagle muttered.

'Bollocks. Snake, I understand you have a cover to maintain as Cub's brother, but in the circumstances that can go hang. Because of you and your small-time-gang heroics, Cub, the assassins have probably got clean away. This won't happen again!' He turned on his heel and stormed off towards the car. Alex glared after him. What was he supposed to do? Let Taylor get slaughtered while he looked for clues? What would Clara and the others think of him then? _Of course,_ he thought bitterly, _it doesn't matter what they think of me. Clara's just a target. I hate this job. I really fucking _hate_ this job._

**A/N: Maybe I should have made Ash come in and save them, but that would have spoiled my plot. I did warn you that I would bore you to death with my OCs, enjoy!**

***Wanders off laughing malevolently to self* **

**tzoomi: Yassen and Alex will talk plenty, if you can be bothered to wait that long! Thanks for reviewing.**

**Rider Girl9: Your continued support is a boon to me. Don't let me put you off Ash, I let my mum, a mistake that is sure to haunt me to my grave.**

**Wolfmonster: Gahh, Mary-Sue alert! Hope her bossy and possessive characteristics are coming through? They can't just shoot her, it's meant to be an ACCIDENT (oh sorry, my finger slipped)! Glad you liked Alex's observance, I thought it was a bit overdone myself, but if it appealed to you then great. I obviously couldn't have him not notice. Phat is a bit of Essex slang for cool, brilliant etc, if you didn't know. **

**Ooh, just realised 'rehearsal' could also mean little fight in rehearsal for the big fight which is, of course, pending. I like to work a double-meanin gin my chapter headings, if possible.**


	10. Chapter 9: Truce

**Chapter 9: Alliance **_**sita**_

**A/N: Many thanks to Alo Amicus, who gave me some truly inspiring praise, and to Rider Girl9, who can always be relied upon for a kick up the arse.**

Yassen awoke with the taste of blood in his mouth. He must have bitten on his tongue to keep himself from screaming – for there was a scream struggling in his throat, he realised. Even in his sleep, his instincts were fine-tuned. It was good to know.

It was early morning. Birdsong permeated through the single-glazed window. He rose out of bed and began to do lunges, working his legs and core muscles. Perfect. Now there was no energy to spare for panic, and he could begin to think about what had just happened.

_It was only a nightmare._

It was best, Yassen believed, to recall everything in a bad dream, associate it with the waking world, rationalise and forget. The dream had started off pleasantly enough. He was with John. Not doing anything in particular, maybe training or in one of the slow periods on an assignment. Then it grew crazy. He had run in his dream along the streets of Mdina, screaming John's name until he was hoarse. Yassen stopped his workout briefly, focussing on his throat. It felt fine, so he hadn't screamed out loud. There had been a wild feeling of panic, of loss. Julia Rothman had appeared, her voice echoing, no words audible. Then scalpels, white coats, bright lights. In the dream he had beaten his head against a wall, frantic like a trapped animal, trying to break down the walls in his skull. Finally he had pulled away and gazed at the drystone walls of the silent city, smeared with dark blood. He had turned and plunged the knife into Ash's stomach, felt emotional pain and the pain of the wound, and finally a very real and crippling pain in his chest, which had woken him.

Yassen dropped to the floor and did fifty press-ups.

When he was done he felt cleansed. His arms were burning, sweat beading on his skin, and he knew what he wanted. He wanted to see Alex.

No, he realised, that wasn't what he wanted at all. He wanted to see John, failing that he wanted to speak to Alex and train him to take John's place, and with neither of these things possible he wanted to see Alex. It would almost certainly backfire. The most sensible thing would be to go back to bed.

* * *

'Alex, is it possible for you to pay attention?'

Alex looked up sharply into the eyes of his chemistry teacher, who was explaining something irrelevant about alkenes on the board. _For God's sake, I'm trying to save_ _the world here!_ he felt like screaming, but restrained himself. The teacher glared at him before continuing:

'So, as you can see, when we have a _double_ bond-'

'Yes, but Miss!' Jane's voice cut through the air for the third time that morning. Next to him, Clara banged her head repeatedly into her hands. To Alex, the constant interruptions had merely been a chance to think about fingerings and diversionary tactics, but he could tell it was really getting on her nerves. The rest of the class sat, twiddled their thumbs and chatted while Jane dragged the teacher through a series of complex and roundabout explanations. Alex was just considering flopping his head down on his desk for a snooze when his mobile buzzed. He glanced carefully around. Clara was drumming her fingers. Jane was waving her fist in the air to emphasise a point. The teacher was listening patiently. Reflecting that patience might be counter-productive in this case, he pulled out his phone and slid it open.

'_saw gregorovich leaving site. meet me by s-block stairs in 5. E.'_

'And would you like to share with us what you are finding so interesting under your desk?'

Dammit! Slowly Alex raised his chord book into the air and waved it vaguely about.

'Ah, yes, I thought it might be something to do with your band,' the teacher remarked. A titter travelled round the room.

'Actually it's Clara's band,' Alex said quietly. The teacher frowned down her nose at him for a moment and then returned to the front of the class.

_Right,_ Alex thought, _time to get strategically sent out…_ 'Miss!' he yelled out, flinging his hand into the air. 'I don't get it. I mean, supposing the fractional defecation (pause to allow snigger) doesn't work? And your fractions mix?'

'Well, then the batch is spoiled.'

'And then does it, like, explode?'

'_No_, Alex, it does not. I shall have to send you out of you cannot comment sensibly,' said the teacher, not sending him out. 'Now everybody line up along the side of the room to take turns with this computer exercise.

The room was edged with worktables, stretching unbroken round the walls, each equipped with gas taps, electrical plugs and sinks sunk into the surface. The class now pushed and shoved for sink-less areas of bench to sit on. Clara hopped onto the wooden surface, swinging her legs.

'I have always thought it would be fun,' Jane announced, 'to blow up the science block.'

'What?' Alex snapped, staring at her. _How the hell do I get out of this?_

'You'd turn on all the gas taps,' Jane elaborated while the teacher called ineffectually for quiet. 'Might need a friend to help you with that part.' She paused as the first person finished at the computer and the whole class slid forwards along the benches. 'Turn on all the gas taps in all the labs, shut all the windows, get out and – I'm not quite sure about this part – ignite the gas, and KABOOM!' Jane jumped in the air, swinging her arms graphically.

ReporthertoWolfreporthertoWolfpotentialthreatreporthertoWolf…

'Jane, you are a complete psycho!' Clara declared, slid sideways and fell into the sink.

There was uproar.

'Boffin stacked it!'

'Winch her out with a guitar string!'

Jane stood in front of the sink of doom, laughing her head off. Alex, seeing new opportunities for trouble, joined in as loudly as he could. Clara, laughing too for forms sake, was watching them murderously (quite a scary combination). She did look funny though, wedged into the sink with her legs waving in the air. He felt quite sorry for her.

'Silence!' the teacher screamed. 'Jane, Alex, I am ashamed of you! Clara, get out of the sink! All three of youcan stay behind at lunch!'

Was he really not going to get sent out? She was turning away from him. The situation was desperate. Then inspiration struck him like a lightning-bolt.

'Miss! Miss, I've got a music lesson.'

'Off you go then,' she said. Just like that! It was too easy! He rushed along a short corridor, down a flight of stairs and up to the waiting Eagle.

'Oh my God, you will not believe this!' he exclaimed. 'I said I had music and she just let me go!'

'Congrats, Cub. You've discovered what the music-boffs have known since the dawn of time. Seriously, everyone despises goody-goodies, but by the time you get to my age you can see where they're coming from. Now get down and look at this.

Alex got down and looked. it was essentially a tripping mechanism, very simple, set up at the top of the stairway.

'Bit basic,' he said. 'They must be getting desperate. That could have got anyone, and it's unlikely to be fatal.'

'I don't like it,' Eagle muttered. 'Looks like their trying to lull us into a false sense of security.'

'Since when did you get poetic?'

'Shut it, Cub. I don't know what you're on about.'

'Sure. Now can I get back to my lesson?'

'Dude, if you said you've got music you'll have to wait twenty minutes.'

'Right you are. See you.'

* * *

'Well, I don't think I learned a single thing from that lesson,' Jane declared. They were fresh out of detention and hurrying for the music block, where the others had probably almost given up waiting.

'I'm not surprised, the way you kept interrupting,' remarked Clara.

'What do you mean? Those were legit. questions…'

'What, you're trying to pretend you don't understand hydrocarbons?'

'Oh I'm sorry, just because I don't instantly get everything the teacher says-'

'But I _know _you do! You've just got some kind of stupid vendetta against her because-'

'Because she's a crap teacher!'

'So wait till parents' evening and complain, don't mess up every lesson for the rest of us. The trouble with you Jane is you think you're better than the rest of us and we've all got to wait for you…'

'Oh, hark whose talking.'

'The universe does not revolve around the space where you stand, Jane!'

'And it wouldn't make much difference if it-'

'Oh, pack it in, guys,' Alex moaned. A huffy silence descended over them; he almost wished he hadn't spoken.

They arrived at the music block to find the other three in debate with the music teacher.

'Sorry, kids, we can't afford to give you endless practice time you know, we've got lots of other people who we need to prioritise.'

'But we need to practice, we've got as much right as anyone!'

'Listen, when I say…'

'Miss, me and the others would like to practice please?' Jane said sweetly, stepping forwards.

'Oh…Jane. I didn't know you were entering now.'

'Yeah, I thought I'd give these guys some support with my violin.'

'Well, alright, room nine's free if you want to go through.' She gestured down the corridor and left.

'Clique!' Clara yelled as soon as they were safely closeted. 'This whole department is one huge clique! Ow, my bum hurts.'

'Wow Jane, ya really clinched it for us.'

'No problem.'

'Helps to be on the inside,' Clara conceded, sitting down at the piano. Jane glared at her back for a moment before continuing.

'So I was looking through the songs, I made some adjustments to the violin parts

and-'

'Yes Jane, that's wonderful.'

Jane flung her music to the floor. Papers sprayed everywhere.

'Will you _stop_ bloody well sticking the knife in every chance you get, I can't help it if Miss likes me because you have _absolutely no_ people skills-'

'SHUT UP!' Taylor roared.

Alex had been trying to avoid looking at Taylor all day. His face was adorned with a selection of swellings and bruises that were uncomfortable to look at, and his eyes were hard.

'I'm sick to the back teeth of you two. You might be so bored you can just sit there and wrangle, well remember I have made serious sacrifices to be here! So stop being so stupid and let's get ON!'

The others sat, stunned. Clara swallowed a few times, blinking rapidly. Then Jane said:

'I apologise. This is your band as much as mine, and I should appreciate that.'

'Thank you. I accept that you have a right to be here and give your input. I will try to respect that.'

'OK. So…?'

'Yeah. Show us what you've got.' Haltingly the rehearsal proceeded, everyone speaking tentatively and being oddly formal. Actually it was a pretty good atmosphere in some aspects. Nobody was interrupting, for a start, everyone was listening to Clara, and no-one seemed inclined to chat. Roberta was particularly silent, hunched over her guitar. She was short with Alex when he asked for her guidance, though as to-the-point as ever. He saw Clara give Josh a questioning look at one point, but Josh only shrugged.

'Good rehearsal, people,' Clara said as the bell rang. 'Anyone want to go on a walk? I thought we could go round through the park where the woods come down, just hang out a bit?'

'I'm in.'

'In.'

'In.'

'Am I invited?' Jane asked tentatively.

'Of course!' Clara exclaimed. 'You're part of this band, aren't you?'

* * *

Alex felt miserable as he followed the others out of the school gates. Twice already he'd missed some eager, friendly comment addressed to him, and why? Because he was assassin-spotting. He'd never felt more alone in his life.

'Alex!'

'Oh look, it's your charming brother with the accent!' Clara trilled, all smiling and indifferent.

'I don't know Alex's charming brother with the accent,' said Jane. 'Shall we say hello to him?'

Alex sighed as he was forced to lead them over to Snake, who was standing with the rest of K Unit in entourage. However, the SAS man seemed to take in his mood in a glance. He grasped Alex in a hug and muttered in his ear:

'Don't worry about it, we'll keep a lookout. Just relax and hang out.' He glared at Wolf as he spoke. Clearly the popular opinion was that Wolf had been too harsh over the beating-up incident, and the others were now making it up to him. Alex whispered 'thanks' before saying at normal volume:

'If you're coming, Stu, keep a sensible distance behind, I don't want people to know we're related.'

'Oh, get on with your geek mates,' Snake grumbled, giving him a shove towards the others.

'Yeah man, he's with us!' Taylor yelled, flinging an arm around his shoulders.

'Let us teach him a round!' Clara seized his other hand, effectively hemming him in.

'I – what?' Alex bleated. Clara drew in breath and began to sing…

* * *

Yassen had been cooling his heels on the pavement for a good ten minutes when he spied the group of teenagers heading towards him. They were receiving odd looks from the few shoppers who had braved the cold, and Yassen wasn't surprised. Their bright, dynamic air commanded a certain amount of attention, and besides they were singing.

Even Alex.

It was a simple three-part round with an upbeat tune, and as they swung off the road towards him he could begin to make out the words:

'_I hate the flowers,_

_I hate the daffodils._

_I hate the mountains,_

_I hate the rolling hills and_

_I hate the fireside when the lights are low,_

_Singing I hate you, I hate you, I hate you so!'_

Yassen smiled faintly, then spotted the SAS unit following. They were moving spread out, far enough away from the children to appear unassociated, eyes watchful. He faded back into the trees and began to make his way abreast of the gaggle of teenagers. They continued to sing as they made their way through the park, Foster with the curly-haired girl, Taylor with Alex and the guitarist girl with the boy who's garage they had rehearsed in. Yassen drifted in closer, listening particularly to Taylor. The boy could sing! His voice was surprisingly well-developed for one so young, full and rich. As he and Alex reached the start of the song again he leapt up into a piercing falsetto.

'Bloody hell!' Alex exclaimed, leaping away from him. Yassen was impressed. A vocal range like that took some skill.

'I dislike the flowers!' the girl – Jane – bellowed, starting it up again.

'Doesn't scan!' Clara yelled.

'Oh, you are obsessed with scanning!'

'Few poets pay attention to these technical details any more, but what I say is, anyone can write sentences and split them up into short lines and call it poetry, but it takes real skill to make it scan at the same time.'

'Dislike is funnier.'

'I'll drink to that.'

'I dislike-'

'What's it for, creeps?' some boy walking past yelled. Jane shrieked with laughter and Taylor began to sing:

'It's hard to believe that I couldn't see…'

'That you were always right beside me!' Clara joined in, harmonising beautifully. Yassen shook his head. They were certainly something out of the ordinary. He slid back a few paces as the dark-haired SAS man glided close past him, but it was safe. As long as he wanted to remain hidden, they would never find him.

* * *

Alex was wondering if the world had gone mad. Well, if so, it was in a nicer way than usual. Besides, he was supposed to be integrating himself with these people, and if wandering around town belting out rounds in three-part harmony was the only way to do it then (in Clara's words) So Be It. It was even quite fun, he understood how Clara could enjoy the funny looks when surrounded by a battalion of friends.

Of course there would be hell to pay from K-Unit later, but…

'So lonely before, I finally foooouuuunnnnnd…what I've been lookin' fo-oor,' Taylor and Clara sang. They linked hands promenade style and began to skip ahead of the others. 'Do do do, do do do do do do…'

'What the FUCK do you think your doing?'

Where there had been empty path there were now Taylor's Bruvs, grumpy, astounded and very much crashed into.

'Uh, skipping?' Taylor suggested.

'Skipping? I give up.'

Jet was standing a little way behind Jackson. He had a football which he was nudging absently with his foot, and now he suddenly collected it and passed it to Alex. He hadn't been expecting it but managed to intercept it with his foot. He bounced it round on his feet an knees for a minute – just to show them who they were dealing with, then passed to Josh, who passed to Jackson, who passed to Taylor.

'Oh, so you're speaking to us now?' Clara said frostily. Jackson stared at her incredulously.

'No, we're not talking to _you,_ we're just letting Taylor talk to you.'

'How very gracious.'

'Awww, shuddup ya boffin.'

'Hey!' Taylor yelled, bouncing the ball. 'Don't diss the arch-boff!'

'Ahaha, your not funny.'

'Oh yeah?' Taylor began to dribble towards the middle of the field. The others drifted after him.

'Well, here's as good as anywhere,' Rob grunted, walking towards a tree and slinging her guitar off her back. 'If our fish are sidetracked into playing football we might as well make camp.'

'Fish?' Alex asked.

'Any male of a suitable age and maturity for dating,' Clara rattled off. 'So called because you go fishing and catch them.'

'They're all mad, Alex, innit?' Jet yelled. 'Pass us the ball.'

'SCORE!!!' Taylor crowed, intercepting and booting it into the middle distance (good shot, Yassen noted). Alex went tearing after the ball and managed to rendezvous with it by the gate to the children's playground. By the time he got back with it the others were dumping down their blazers as goal posts.

'Odd numbers…'Alex muttered. 'Oy, Stewart! Joining in?' He could remove one lookout, surely?'

'OK. Your friends better watch themselves.' Snake jogged in a show-offy manner towards them, surreptitiously flexing his muscles. Alex fought the urge to laugh.

'What about you?' Taylor asked Wolf.

'Nah, I'll pass, thanks,' Wolf said, glancing around nervously.

'More of a golfing man, huh?' Clara suggested.

'What?' Wolf stared in confusion until he noticed Alex making frantic 'just play along' faces. 'Uh, yeah, yeah.'

'Golf is just a good walk ruined, _a mon avis.' _Clara began to drift off towards the other girls. 'But to each his own.'

'Whatever you told her, Cub, I'll get you for it later,' Wolf hissed.

It was a cold day, but by the end of fifteen minutes Alex was soaking in sweat. He unbuttoned his school shirt, while Jackson pulled his right off. They rejoined the shivering girls under their tree, panting and happy.

'Well, I'm glad to see _some_ of us are warm,' Jane remarked sourly. Jet grinned.

'Want me to warm you up, baby?' Jane threw a stick at him.

'What about you, Bobby, huh, huh?' Roberta ignored him, experimenting with her guitar, strumming it with a lock of hair to produce a soft, misty sound.

'Yo Rob?' Clara called, nudging her.

'What?'

'Oh come on, you've been in a foul mood all day, what's up?'

Roberta sighed, then said:

'Bloody Meg Stevens.'

Alex looked up. 'Who's Bloody Meg Stevens?'

'Some bitch in my year. Anyway, she was sitting in her usual It-girl way talking to all her friends, and I come in and she's like: "Oh hi, guitar girl. How's rehearsal? Getting on for Women's Institute are we?" And then she starts, like, having this massive go about how we're all stuck up and can't do music but think we can, only not actually saying that, you know, she was pretending to be friendly, and then she starts going on about her boyfriend…you know the one dumped me last term?'

'I _told_ you he was a bad idea,' Clara put in.

'Shut up. Anyways, about how cool he is and all the flash dates he's taking her on, and his ten-inch penis-'

'His _what_?'

'And all the time just kind of looking at me, you know, "you useless tart." God I hate her.'

'I don't believe anyone's got a penis that big.'

'Why not?' Wolf sniggered

'Well, well…where would you _keep_ it? What would be the point of growing one that size in the first place? Besides, it would be practically impossible to reproduce with it, therefore the allele _would not get passed on_!'

'Oh no?'

'Scientific improbability, Wolf.'

'Long penises are dying out!' Roberta shrieked melodramatically.

'But how to prove it?' Jane mused.

'NO!' Clara said emphatically. 'I draw the line! I am NOT lying in wait with a bench clamp and a tape measure-'

'Can we just drop this subject now?' Alex asked, turning pale.

'Yes, I think that might be a good idea.'

'Anyway,' Roberta said, looking much more cheerful, 'I got good news too.'

'Hit us with it.'

'An old mate of mine knows some guy who's organising a gig and dance at the local club. Sort of 'music through the ages' theme. They want people to do covers of famous bands right the way from like, jazz and that through to modern stuff. So I told him we'd do it, thought it'd be good to get our hand in.'

'Cool. So who'll we be doing?'

'Um.' Rob wriggled a bit. 'ABBA.'

'You poor kids, I'm leavin'!' Jackson sprang to his feet, closely followed by Jet.

'ABBA?' Josh groaned.

'Well, they needed someone to do the old stuff, everyone was offering to cover for Rhianna.'

'Hey you guys!' Clara shouted. 'ABBA are awesome.'

'You like ABBA?' Wolf asked in horror, scrambling up as well.

'Solid gold! How many songs do they need us to do?'

'Three, plus an encore if the crowd like us.'

'We'll meet you by the car,' Fox muttered. All four men backed away to a safe distance, eyeing Clara warily.

'Cool, let's talk tactics,' she said, unperturbed. The others wriggled into a circle around her. K Unit were giving Alex 'hard luck' faces.

'I think we should do 'Dancing Queen' – obvious, it's and absolute classic – 'Voulez-Vous,' 'Does your Mother Know?' and 'Waterloo' for an encore. Rob, I've got a book of the songs arranged for piano, so if you take it and work out the guitar parts from that…Jane, listen to the CD and work out the violin-synth stuff for yourself, is that OK?'

'Sure.' Jane was bouncing with enthusiasm.

'I'll handle saxophone, Josh drums, Taylor rhythm guitar – once Rob's sorted it out – Alex bass…no bass in 'Does your Mother Know', you can sing that Alex. DON'T even argue, if you do this everyone else fits in perfectly. How long have we got, Rob?'

'A week.'

'You can learn three riffs and one set of vocals in a week, can't you Alex?'

'Fine.' Alex ground his teeth. 'Yes.'

'Good man. We're sorted.' Alex began to clamber to his feet, when Jane suddenly exclaimed:

'Hey Alex! What happened to your chest?'

Alex looked down. His shirt was still hanging open and in the pale sunlight his bullet wound was clearly visible. Not to mention innumerable smaller scars.

'I had a bit of an accident,' he said, playing for time.

'A bit of an accident?' Jane echoed. Alex was defensive.

'Hey dude,' Josh broke in. 'Don't worry about it. Scars are nothing we can't handle.' All through the game he had kept his jumper on, but now he pulled it off and held up his arm for Alex's inspection. He gasped. It was covered in thin, regular scars, from the elbow onto the back of the hand. Alex shook his head slowly.

'Oh my God,' Jane whispered. 'I thought that was all just rumours.' She turned to Clara. 'Did you know?'

'Of course, I helped mop them up.'

'Haven't self-harmed in five months,' Josh said. 'But, you know…it still happened.'

'I didn't stab myself if that's what you mean.'

'No, I know. Just saying, you know, some people see your scars and just clam up. But it's cool with me.' He flashed a rare smile.

Everyone was quiet, letting the atmosphere hang. A shared moment. Alex wished he could feel a part of it. He wanted to share a secret of his own, to thank Josh for what must have been a hell of a confession, but he couldn't. He just had to keep lying to them all.

'Ah well. Moving on out then,' Clara said at last. The mood broke as they all began to scramble to their feet.

'I'm interested in your theories on biology,' Jane said to Clara.

'Always time for a little biology revision. I vote we work it into an exercise and get it published in the textbook.'

'Hah, makes a change from eye colour. There's quite a lot of violin in ABBA, isn't there?'

'Yes, plenty of material. Hey, speaking of violin, I've been working on a piece for my music coursework, a classical piece for piano and two violins. I know you're only, you know, one violin, but we could go through it some time?'

'Yes.' Jane smiled. 'That would be good.'

* * *

Hiding in the undergrowth, Yassen smiled too. What had started out as a fool's errand had borne fruit. The local dance club. A week away.

They had a location.

**A/N: That didn't come out at all like I intended. I'm finding it a little difficult to make the transition from unstructured daydream to story, as you can see. If you have any feedback regarding pacing, style or repetition of the word 'said,' please mention it.**

**There may be a while before my next update, as I'm going away **_**sans**_** internet for a week, but I should hopefully develop a backlog of chapters. Next chapter things will start happening, I promise. **

**Rider Girl9: I have one word for you: Feedback. Also get an account already. I still love you, btw.**

**Alo Amicus: You have no idea how much I needed to hear that about my OCs. Thankyou.**

**Tzoomi: I'm very impressed with your language skills.**


	11. Chapter 10: Dress Rehearsal

Chapter 10: Dress Rehearsal

**Disclaimer:** I did not write any of the songs mentioned in this chapter. You already know about Alex.

**A/N: You have no idea at what pains I have been to get this to you.**

Alex was feeling slightly but definitely sick. He nervously paced the hall outside the warm-up rooms, recalling all the other times he'd felt this way. Sabotaging Scorpia's hot air balloon? No, there'd been no time. The night he'd escaped from the organ transplant centre? He couldn't have been more nervous then. He'd had a plan, he was active, carrying it through. Now he had no plan. He was totally out of his depth. His first parachute jump? Yes, that was a better comparison. You jumped out, pulled the ripcord, and either it worked or it didn't. Of course Clara or Roberta would say that it was different, your fate was entirely in your own hands and besides, you weren't facing death. Well, they could sod off. Alex was beginning to think that he just did death better.

He stopped at the door of their room and entered. It was shabby, with graffiti on the walls and twenty years worth of chewing gum in the carpet. Roberta was playing the piano. Even after a week, the sight looked as wrong as ever. Roberta seemed to have been born behind a guitar, and watching her playing anything else was like looking at an elephant with a beak instead of a trunk. Or something. _Crikey_, Alex thought dazedly, _I really am going crazy here._

Rob complained loudly whenever she had to play the piano. 'It freaks me out,' she'd confessed to Alex during one of their lessons. 'I'm so used to the guitar, I can just play it without thinking. Playing piano's so much harder, it's like reverting ten years.' Alex sympathised. He knew what it was like to be advanced at something and then find yourself totally outstripped and helpless.

A door opened somewhere in the club, allowing the strains of 'Surfin' USA,' to penetrate to their room.

'Five minutes, guys,' Clara whispered. Alex's stomach flipped with panic. He could not believe he was being asked to go and play an instrument he'd been learning for all of _one month_ in front of a huge audience. This was not in the job description. The whole point of learning this was so he could feign an interest in music if necessary, not_ become_ a musician. Oh God, oh God…

Josh slipped out of the room to go take a peek in the club.

'Good turnout,' he observed. 'It's rammed in there.'

Was he not fazed? Was he seriously not fazed? Everyone else looked pretty sick to Alex, except for Rob who was hiding behind her 'not buvvered' face. Josh was like the beats he played, steady, unobtrusive, holding the rest together. Alex drifted towards his reassuring presence, guided by mere instinct now. A roar of applause sounded from outside.

At a typical bullfight six bulls are killed…

That was what it was most like, Alex decided. The bullfight. The fear of having to go out and perform moves you didn't know, preceded by the agonising wait, the sympathy for the other players…_at a typical disco six bands are killed…_he couldn't bottle it up any longer. 'Clara,' he began weakly.

'I can't do this.'

The words were spoken in a low, dead voice, dropped flatly into the stillness. The band wheeled as one, staring at the speaker.

'Jane?' Clara said at last.

'I'm a classical musician.' Jane addressed the wall with her head in her hands. 'That's what everyone expects me to be. I wanted to be good at this and now there's friends of mine out there waiting to laugh and whoop and make it all into a big _joke_.' Her voice broke on the last word.

Alex stared, dumbfounded. How could he voice his own fears, so feeble by comparison? It was not his reputation being made or broken here.

'Jane,' Clara said again. She knelt down and put her arm awkwardly round Jane's shoulder. 'Listen, it'll be fine, you were brilliant in rehearsal…'

'Here,' Roberta interrupted, thrusting a black tube into Jane's hand.

'Huh? What-'

'This, Jane, is known as a mascara wand. It emphasises your lashes and makes your eyes more expressive. It's also great for morale. Now put it on and get your butt out there.'

'Uh, Clara,' Alex said feebly as Jane dried her eyes and began to apply the mascara, 'I'm not feeling too good about this…'

'If you chicken out now, frog, you'll have me to contend with, and I am scarier than_ anything_ they got out there.'

'Listen, Alex,' Rob told him, heading for the door, 'you're a fit guy. Just look soulful, dance around, whatever, they'll go with it.'

When a girl like Roberta tells you that you don't argue.

* * *

The car purred silently through the dark streets. Yassen was at the wheel, Ash in the passenger seat. To anyone else the silence would have been deafening, but both men were building walls. Yassen focussed on the road, ignoring everything but the task in hand. Ash just zoned out.

The call had come through to Ash while Yassen was out Alex-spotting. Forget accidents, a random murder will do. Just don't let it look like a professional job. Yassen had arrived back, his intelligence about the gig providing the perfect cover for his weakness, something he was now erasing from his own mind. They had agreed. Emotions run high at nightclubs. It shouldn't be too hard to lure the target outside, into some dark corner, and stab her to death. Ash looked sidelong at Yassen's chiselled profile, and his unearthly blue eyes. Shouldn't be too hard at all.

* * *

'Good dry run,' Clara said, her voice hoarse. 'Dress rehearsal, like. To prepare us for the chavs at school.'

'Just remember,' Jane added with bitter irony, 'it's only going to get worse.'

'Exactly.' They stood behind the curtain, peering through at the crowd.

'Alex.' Roberta was speaking now. 'Remember what I said. Don't try to think about the notes, no-one can think their fingers into place that fast anyway. If you were shooting a goal, you wouldn't think every part of your body into the right place, you would just do it. Trust your fingers, they know the positions.'

'Right.'

'Just relax.'

'Right.'

'And now, covering ABBA…'

'Crap, crap, our name is so crap!' Clara moaned.

'The Non-Conformists!'

Cheers exploded across the room, the voices of a crowd with fresh material to either worship or massacre. _At least when you're on a mission you know who the enemy are._ There was no dramatic entrance. They just moved smoothly and without fuss to their positions on stage. Alex slung his guitar across his chest, and immediately felt slightly more protected. Clara settled herself behind the keyboard. The crowd was muttering, but as Roberta stepped up to the mike silence fell. Here, at least, was someone who looked the part.

Up on the stage all eyes turned to Clara. Her fingers were on the keys, poised to kick them all into Dancing Queen. The first notes the Non-Conformists would ever play. It was a tricky entry, the drummer had to come in at the end of the glissando, and all the other parts with him, making it very difficult to find the rhythm. Josh glowered from behind the drums. If anyone could hold them together, it would be him. He held his drumsticks poised but relaxed, ready.

And then the piano shattered the moment like crystal, Alex flailed at the strings and somehow found the right chord and they were off. Layers of parts, perfectly in rhythm, with the violin leading over the top. Clara had explained that this intro had to hit the audience bang in the eye and then peel backwards to reveal the singer like a jewel. And Alex could see it happening, right before his eyes. He strummed more gently, finding a softer rhythm, Rob took a breath and began.

'_Friday night and the lights are low…_'

From her first note you could tell it was going to be perfect. The old well-known song rolled across the club, deep and resonant, capturing the dancers.

'…_looking out for a place to go.'_

_Where they play the right music, getting in the swing,_

_You come to look for a king._

_Anybody could be that guy…'_

Jane layered a jagged counter-melody over the top.

'…_night is young and the music's hiiiiiiggggghhh._' Rob grinned as she plunged down on the last word to notes that were surely the preserve of basses.

'_With a bit of rock music'_

'Yeah!' People at the front were beginning to move in time to the beat.

Taylor and Alex leaned forwards, sharing one microphone, and all five of them launched into the chorus while behind them Josh held the beat, steady and unshakeable. They held the last note, _forte _to the end, then toned it down for Roberta's next entry.

'_You're a teaser, you turn 'em on_,' she sang huskily, letting her hair fall forward and smouldering at the audience. She found K Unit at the back and spared them a wink (Alex had been trying not to think about what they would say later, but it might not be so bad if Rob kept this up). He plucked out the same rhythm on his bass, chord, chord, up a third, down a third. After Josh, he was the next line of defence for rhythm. It was lucky the others were so good. Jane's arm pumped powerfully across the strings, leading them through the outro, and as the music faded a slow roar swelled from the crowd. Alex dropped his hands off the guitar and stood dazed. They'd made it through the first song, and now his legs were turning to water. The applause battered him.

'Well done, bruv,' Taylor muttered, clapping him on the shoulder. Alex managed to draw breath.

'Ya ready, guys?' Clara was hefting on her saxophone.

Oh God…Voulez-Vous…

Clara was bouncing on the spot, trying to work off her tension. The proverbial boffin, about to get up and sing ABBA's raunchiest number. The bass line was so prominent in this one. _I will not screw up,_ Alex vowed, _I WILL NOT SCREW UP._

Clara flicked a finger.

Taylor plunged into the introduction, a series of rapid, sliding chords. Alex played the bass line, a single thumping note. Not noticeable while it was playing but missed if it dropped out. They repeated their pattern, once twice, a hint of synth creeping in from Jane…

Then the saxophone started.

* * *

They could hear some kind of slinky music playing as they entered the reception of the club, a steady bass drum pounding through the walls with a suggestion of melody on top. Yassen slid money to the bouncer without bothering to check the entry fees. He was sure what he had handed over provided an ample tip. And as soon as they entered the disco he knew he had timed it exactly right.

The six teenagers were playing on the stage, Clara at the mike with her saxophone across her chest, the other girls singing the harmonies either side of her, Taylor on guitar and Alex on bass. The grim, hulking boy with the scarred arms pounded stolidly at the drum kit. Alex's face was a mask of focus. He strummed the guitar with a hard, regular motion of his hand, and Yassen could see the eyes of half the girls in the club fixed on him. As he watched, the band – for truly that was what they were – launched into a chorus, all of them harmonising while Clara played thick, vibrato-layered notes on the saxophone, breaking off just in time to chime in: 'Ah ha!' With Jane. She had a set of lungs on her, certainly. They were split now, Alex, Taylor and Roberta singing the lyrics, Jane and Clara doing the ah has. The music had a jumpy, infectious beat. More than half the audience were clapping along.

'The SAS unit are here,' Ash grunted.

'What?'

Ash, not turning his head, subtly indicated the direction in which Yassen should look. Yassen spotted them almost immediately, grouped in a corner, eyes flickering everywhere.

'Shall I…' Ash began. His hand crept towards the holster at his hip. Yassen seized his arm in a vice-like grip.

'I want to listen to the rest of the set.'

'What? Since when are you into '70s rock?'

'I wish to listen to their performance.'

'Okay, okay! Let go of me you-'

Yassen relinquished his grip as abruptly as he had taken leaving Ash staggering. He turned his eyes back to the stage.

* * *

Alex had made it so far. He was even beginning to feel a little confident. They completed the second chorus and now Taylor was playing the same set of chords as at the beginning. He milked it for all he was worth, rocking around with the guitar. Alex's stomach lurched again. It was his solo part, any second now…

'_Voulez-vous, ah ha!_'

All the other parts stripped away, leaving just him and the singers. He strummed the rhythm, as regular as he could make it. The saxophone ripped in again.

'_Voulez-vous, ah ha! Ah ha! Ah ha!_'

He struck at the strings, and the notes came thumping out through the speakers, so low they were practically another drum, just like something off the radio…he couldn't believe that sound was coming out of his fingers…

And suddenly there it was, the high that Clara had promised. The low infectious rhythm, the handclap from the crowd, the heat of the lights. Feeling your part braid in with the others, just exactly right.

'_Voulez-vous…_'

Clara's voice rose up, harmonising on some lofty note high above the others. He played his riff out again, swivelling his hips in time to the beat, and Taylor laced a little ornament over the top of it. They slid inevitably back into the chorus, fading out to the cheering of the crowd. Taylor gave a spontaneous whoop as the applause kicked in, and Clara laughed, gasping for breath. Alex shook his head, amazed by what had just taken place inside him.

* * *

Yassen gave the slightest of nods, satisfied. Alex had played well, and so had his friends. It pleased him that they had done themselves justice.

No need to end on a bad note. **(A/N: No pun intended)**

* * *

Clara's POV

_Note to self. Must not jump up and down on stage…_Ow. Saxophone dead weight around neck, diaphragm aching and totally on top of the world. I turned round to find myself face to face with Alex. He was holding himself fairly still and his expression was calm, but all the same I would have said he was hyper. Any suspicions were confirmed when he opened his mouth.

'Does Your Mother Know!' he gabbled eagerly, diving for the mike. I had no idea what had gone on behind me while I was singing, I just laughed out loud as I handed him the microphone.

'Hey.' Rob nudged me as she donned her guitar again. 'Check out that blond fish at the back.'

I gave him a cursory glance. 'Too old. Come on, you ready.' I know Rob. You have to head her off quickly or else you're in for a month of boy-angst and cancelled rehearsals before you can persuade her to dump him.

Jane and I moved into position behind Alex, ready to play the sneering girlfriends to the max. Taylor began to play the opening chords…this really was the number for rhythm guitar…Rob burst in with lead, and we were away again.

* * *

The soldiers had definitely spotted them now, but they weren't moving yet. Yassen wondered how far they would go to avoid a fight in public. Alex on the stage was still oblivious, getting ready to sing a lead. He looked happier than Yassen had ever seen him, a little incredulous at his position, but enjoying it nonetheless. Yassen blanked out the situation for a second as Alex began to sing. His voice was husky and undeveloped, but true to the note. He seemed a different boy from the haunted teen on Air Force One. Was it only because of MI6 that he had taken up bass? He shook his head. So many things he would never know.

* * *

Taylor was strumming hard and fast, a good solid support. _Don't think about it,_ he told himself, _just do it._

'_You're so hot, teasing me,_

So you're blue, but I can't take a chance on a chick like you…'

It was a brilliant song. He found himself half-laughing as he sang, the words sounded so odd in context. Just such a feelgood song, bursts of guitar coming in from Rob and Clara and Jane belting out the harmonies behind him.

'_Take it easy,_' he crooned into the microphone

'_Try to slow down now, _

_that's no way to go._

_Does your mother know?_

_Take it easy_

_(Take it easy)_

_Better cool it down._

_Take it nice and slow._

_Does your mother know?'_

Clara stepped forward, leaning on his shoulder, and he elbowed her off. She skipped back, laughing, and began to snap her fingers in time to the beat. Taylor was headbanging over his guitar.

As he began the second verse the audience clapped in time, cheering him on. He was totally taking the piss and they were loving every second of it. Clara and Jane flanked him again, all vestures of boffindom cast aside, laughing along. They hit the last chorus, tearing away, just singing it for all they were worth:

'_Well I can dance with you honey…'_ (they did crap dancing)

'…_if you think it's funny, _

_does your mother know that you're out? _

_And I can chat with you baby'_ (they leaned against each other and did crap chatting)

_Flirt a little, maybe, _

_Does you're mother know that you're out?'_

They sang it over again, Clara shouting the lyrics on the offbeat. They forgot the fade and finished it off Mama Mia style, messing about with the rhythm:

'_Does your mother know, does your mother know, does your mother know that you're out?'_

'Yes!' Alex yelled.

'What's got into you tonight?' Clara screamed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. From the side of the room Alex saw the DJ waving to them: _encore._

'Waterloo,' Clara said. Rob looked at her.

'You want me to play that bloody keyboard again, don't you?'

They all dissolved into laughter and began to buckle on their instruments. Alex had sung through the harmonies for this one, but they'd promised him he wouldn't have to do it; Taylor could take care of them. Now he caught his friend's eye.

'Go right ahead,' Taylor grinned, catching his meaning before he could speak. Alex was struck by a moment of pure admiration. Taylor was the singer here, yet he was willing to take a supporting role all night, just to let Alex get into it.

'Thanks, bruv,' he said. Jane stood at the forefront of the band, preparing to sing. She gave Alex a tight smile.

'It'll be fine, hon,' he told her soothingly, and she managed a laugh.

The keyboard came in. For all her complaints, Roberta was a competent player. As Alex strummed, he watched Jane closely. She was staring at the opposite wall with eyes like fire. Then she drew in her breath like a trained singer and launched into the song at full volume:

'_My my! _

_At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender._

_Oh yeah!_

_And now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight._

_The history book on the shelf_

_is always repeating itself.'_

'_Waterloo!' _Alex came in underneath her, singing until he thought his lungs would burst.

'I was defeated, you won the war!' A brilliant spotlight swivelled onto Clara as she ripped in with the saxophone, trembling her lip to make it vibrate and dancing in time to the music.

'_Waterloo, promise you'll love me for ever more!'_ There was a prominent bass bit here. He leaned right back, rocked his hips and strummed with his whole arm. Jane gave him a look of incredulous delight, then laughed and threw herself with fresh enthusiasm into the piece.

'_Waterloo, couldn't escape if I wanted to!'_ (saxophoooooonne)

'_Waterloo, knowing my fate is to be with you!_

_Ohwowowo Waterloo!_

Finally facing my Waterloo!'

Alex was glad. He was glad he'd encountered MI6, glad he'd been sent on this mission so that he could meet these people, glad he'd sat through the long, torturous hours of rehearsal so that he could be a part of this now.

'_My my!'_ he stood back to back with Jane…

'I tried to hold you back but you were stronger!'

…and they rocked back and forth in time to the words. People in the audience were jumping up and down, whooping and applauding. Alex joined them, clapping along in time with his hands stretched out towards Jane as she sang again:

'So how could I ever refuse?

_I feel like I win when I loose!'_ Just in time he scrambled for his guitar and got all the chords in place, sparking a roar of encouragement from the dancers. They finished up in a haze of sweat and sore throats and sore fingers, the last blast of the saxophone still ringing in their ears. The applause was tumultuous. They had one last task to perform. Clara was insistent on this.

The stood in a line on the front of the stage and bowed. The clapping increased. Three times up and down, and then they finally reeled off, senses numbed by the light and noise.

It was the same massive adrenaline rush you got after, say, jumping off a very tall building with a parachute, only purely positive. As soon as they got offstage Jane seized him around the neck, leaping manically up and down at the same time. Her head bashed his chin and he hardly felt it.

'Oh my God I'm so proud of you all!' Clara shrieked, actually crying. Taylor had an arm easily around her waist, grinning all over his face. Even Josh was smiling.

'So much energy!' Alex muttered frantically. 'Come on, guys, let's run!'

* * *

'Where's Cub?' Fox muttered. 'We should go and fetch…'

'I got the power!' The cry was coming from the top of the stairs leading to the rehearsal rooms. The unit turned in time to see Alex do a stage-leap don the full flight, legs tucked up and arms flung wide. He landed in a crouch, lost his balance and fell, but rolled and regained his feet instantly.

'Oh get you, James Bond!' Taylor yelled. Wolf gripped Eagle's arm.

'You don't think he told…'

'Relax, Wolf-man. I mean, what would you say.'

'Relax? You're telling me to relax? Cub, get over here!'

* * *

Alex heard Wolf's call and detached himself from the others with promises to be 'just a few minutes.' He was smiling broadly as he hurried over, but then he noticed their funeral expressions.

'Gregorovich,' Wolf muttered as soon as he was within earshot.

Alex couldn't believe it. Why couldn't he just be happy, just for tonight?

'Oh, shit,' he muttered. 'Oh hell's bells…'

'Right, here's what we gotta do,' Wolf muttered. 'We gotta stick close, watch their every move. Let them make the first move, but don't let them finish making it. We have to cut it close, we can't be seen to launch an unprovoked attack.

* * *

I watched Alex in conversation with his housemates. It was good they'd all turned out for him, though by the looks of things they were lecturing him about the gayness of singing now. Something serious, anyway. Hopefully it wouldn't spoil our evening for long.

Rob was off fetching drinks, non-alcoholic, as Jane and I had specified. Sure enough, she was making good use of the fishing opportunity. Everyone was eager to congratulate her, crowding round. Now she seemed to have chosen a target. She was extricating herself, homing in.

'I hope to God she's not going to be all night,' Jane grumbled. 'I'm parched.'

'Yeah, same. You were well good by the way.'

'You think so? I was so nervous.'

'Didn't show. Hope Alex's relos aren't getting too heavy with…oh look, here she comes.'

* * *

'That was a good set.'

Roberta turned around, three glasses awkwardly clamped in her arms. It was the fish she had pointed out to Clara, the blond one at the back. The DJ had put on some quiet jazz music, allowing the clubbers to chat and mingle, and she could hear his voice clearly. He had some kind of faint accent that she couldn't quite place.

'Let me help you with those,' he said, removing the most precariously balanced of the drinks.

'Thanks, if you could just hold on to those while I get myself sorted…'

'You play very well,' he said as she juggled. 'I hope you will not think I am intruding if I join you?' His gaze flickered to Clara.

'I'm nineteen,' she told him coolly, and my friend is even younger. 'However, it's a free country…' she reclaimed her drink and strolled back towards the girls.

* * *

Roberta came drifting back towards us. I knew that look.

'She's caught one,' Jane muttered.

'No,' I said, 'at least, she hasn't landed it yet. She's playing the line.'

'This metaphor gets more intricate by the second.'

'He has,' Rob exclaimed, 'the bluest eyes I have ever seen.'

'Who, your superannuated non-fish at the back?'

'Yeah, him. Seriously, you can swim in them.'

'I think I'd better take a look at these eyes,' I decided.

* * *

The plan laid, Alex turned away from K Unit. What he saw nearly made him faint. Clara was striding purposefully in Yassen's direction.

'Oh fuck,' Eagle whispered, following his gaze, 'oh fuck fuck fuck…'

* * *

Yassen looked up as the target approached him. She leaned towards the bar, as though inspecting the drinks selection, and regarded him sidelong, ducking and bobbing her head oddly. He caught Ash's eye, and the other man nodded. _Go on_. He was just about to speak when Clara strode off again.

* * *

'Hey, they really are blue,' I said, rejoining the other girls. The two boys had vanished off somewhere.

'Told you so,' Rob said smugly. 'Gorgeous, isn't he.'

'I'll grant you that.'

'Right, I'm going to look at him,' Jane declared. She marched across the club and touched the man on the shoulder to gain his attention.

'Excuse me,' she said, 'my friends are saying you've got blue eyes. Can I look?'

* * *

K Unit spread out across the club and began to close in. The time for descretion was past, it was now or never.

* * *

'Well they're not _that_ blue,' Jane called across to us. Half the club were watching now. Beside me Rob slammed her face repeatedly into the palm of her hand.

I decided to brazen it out.

'Well, what _do_ you call blue then?'

'I don't know; sky blue?'

'Sky blue eyes? That would just be plain scary.'

* * *

_Just plain scary…_

* * *

The unit were closing in. Yassen turned away from Jane, catching Ash's eye again. It had to be done now. He felt the cold familiar weight of the gun in his hand. That was better. These undercover missions were foolish; he wasn't a spy. Now he could finish this. He would be confirmed fit for operations. Life would go on.

* * *

Jane glanced down. The world seemed to slow. In the man's hand she saw the glint of a gun. It had to be a dream, so no cause for panic. In an emergency, scream!

* * *

Suddenly the violinist lunged for his gun, a shriek rising in her throat. He flicked out a hand and sent her sprawling, at the same time raising the gun.

* * *

Alex broke into a sprint.

* * *

Time stopped. I saw those blue eyes fixed on my face before something hit me. Not from in front, behind. Josh roared my name from somewhere as I fell, Alex on top of me. There were three sharp cracks from the bar, and then more from somewhere else…

* * *

And Ash fired. God help him, he raised his gun and fired straight into the face of that gifted young girl. Except it wasn't there anymore. Alex had come rushing in at the last moment and knocked her to the ground.

_Foiled again._

And he blessed the Riders. He blessed them even as Alex began to shoot wildly in his direction, even as the soldiers ran towards him, even as he knew the mission was destroyed. He and Yassen turned and fled, splitting up as soon as they were through the double doors. They were going to be running for a very long time.

* * *

Alex lay twisted on the floor, the gun that MI6 had finally given him in his hand. Shooting wildly between the two men who had shaped his life. He wasn't aiming to kill, or aiming at all, he just had to get them the hell away from Clara. K Unit were running, people were screaming, everything was chaos…

* * *

Squashed. I have never been so squashed. Alex was crushing me into the floor and my whole left side ached. I squeezed my eyes shut, the image of the cold blond fish, and the other one with Roberta-haunted eyes, blazing behind my lids. Then I registered that the shooting had stopped.

Alex pulled me to my feet.

'Are you alright?' he asked. The soldiers were pushing towards us through the crowd. It was so obvious now that that was what they were. They moved in formation, eyes seeing everything. I stared straight at Alex.

'I'm fine.' Where did he fit? He was too young to be a soldier, but there was no way he could just be a random hanger on, not with the way he'd reacted. The thought didn't bother me. My brain was still reeling as though my whole system had been slapped, and I couldn't really do emotion. Just calm trains of thought.

Only a few seconds had passed. Some people still hadn't noticed there was anything wrong, but panic was spreading out from me and Alex in waves. Somebody screamed, somebody started to sob. I looked up. Somehow our friends had gathered together, Taylor, Josh, Rob and Jane. Jackson and Jet – I hadn't even known they were coming – converged with Alex's lot. They all continued to struggle towards us.

'Clara, can you walk?' Alex said to me.

'Yes, I-'

'Good.' He spun around to face the others. 'Follow me.'

We obeyed him like sheep. Too much had happened. He began to stride towards the door, and we all straggled after him.

'Alex,' I called, trying to catch up. 'Alex, where are we going?'

'To the car. Come on, hurry!' He waved us all past him. Guarding our retreat, I guess.

'Alex?' Stewart called. Alex shoved into me and Jane from behind, pushing us faster. The unit began to stride out. We all broke into a run.

'CUB!' Wolf roared.

* * *

All night Alex had been suspecting he was crazy. Now he knew he was. He vaulted over the side of the car, buckling himself in, and Clara leapt into the driver's seat and turned the ignition. Somehow all six of them piled into the five-seated.

'Now drive!' Alex yelled. 'Fast as you can!'

Any second now K Unit were going to come bursting out of the club…

'Where to?' Clara called, pulling out on to the road. Alex thanked the heavens that she was a good driver.

'Josh's garage, and step on it.'

They drove at breakneck speed through the late-night streets, and it occurred to Alex that if Scorpia's top assassins hadn't finished Clara, this drive probably would. A few times she or one of the others would ask what the hell was going on, but he always rebuffed them. They were still in shock, easily silenced.

By the time they reached Josh's, however, Clara's argumentative nature was coming back.

'Alex, what is happening?' she demanded, slamming the car door. He ignored her, seizing her by the shoulder and propelling her towards the garage. He could see real fear sparking in her eyes now. She had, after all, just been nearly shot in a dark club. And he'd been shooting back with a gun. He ushered them all into the garage and stepped in behind them, slamming the door and flicking on the lights. Crashing white beams poured down, making the pictures on the walls leap out like something in a dream. Alex gazed at the fresh ones, pictures of the band at rehearsal, Rob in pop-art style with her guitar, Taylor singing dreamily into a microphone. His eyes lingered on one of all of them in a park, doing whatever characterised them. He was poring over the science textbook, biting on his pen. Just longing to be an ordinary schoolboy. Even without being told, Josh had picked up on that.

'Alex,' Clara said angrily, 'what the hell is going-'

He planted himself in front of her and ripped off his shirt.

Her face was a picture. A kind of 'alright, I am too confused to even be freaked out now' expression.

'What the fuck…' Taylor whispered.

'This is a bullet wound,' Alex snapped, indicating the scar on his chest. 'I was shot by a sniper after I fucked up an operation by the same people who sent those men after you tonight. My father and my uncle were both spies. Yassen Gregorovich – that's the name of your blond fish, Rob – killed my uncle, and the other guy blew up my parents.' He wasn't trying to sugar-coat it. They wouldn't believe him anyway, and he was running out of time. 'After Yassen killed my uncle, I was blackmailed into working for the intelligence services. I've done seven missions. I killed Damian Cray the pop star, when he was trying to blow up the world. I prevented an artificial tsunami off the coast of Australia. Then me and the unit I trained with in the SAS were sent in to watch out for you. We did a pretty crappy job of it. I'm sorry.'

They were all staring at him, faces frozen in shock.

'Do you believe me or don't you?' he demanded.

'I won't when I'm sober,' Clara rasped.

'Clara…'Jane protested.

'Jane, you didn't see it like I did. One minute he wasn't there, the next he was, he must have been doing this for years.'

'I did see it, though. And I see what you mean. He's had some kind of training.'

'So all the time you were hanging with us, you were on a mission?' Taylor said slowly. He was sitting curled up by the drum kit, his head in his hand.

'So you believe me?' Alex questioned.

'Yes.'

'Yes.'

'Yes.'

'Ye-es?'

'I think you're off it.'

Alex looked across at Rob, grinning slightly.

'What, you think I'm a compulsive liar?'

'Well, no, and I can't think of any other explanation, but, look, you can't expect me to believe a story like that, just…' she snapped her fingers.

'Know what you mean, Rob,' Clara said. 'Like I said, I won't believe him once the shock's worn off.'

'But look Alex, it's OK,' Rob said.

'What?'

'You think I hate you because you're a compulsive liar? You saved Clara's life, you would have saved mine if it was me. You're a hero.'

_You're a hero_. Suddenly Alex felt bone-weary, but he also felt warm. He crumpled to the ground, and the others followed suit.

'Bloody cold in here,' Alex muttered.

'So put your shirt back on,' Clara suggested, ever reasonable. Alex chuckled, wriggling back into the garment.

'So now what?' Josh asked. Alex sighed.

'Now we wait for my unit to catch up with me.'

'And aren't they going to be happy bunnies,' Jane added.

'Yup. I just totally violated the Official Secrets Act. I'm probably going to get court-martialed and shot.'

'If you've done all you say, then I doubt it.'

'Thanks'

* * *

Ash sprinted into the hotel. He had to be miles ahead of Gregorovich; no sane person would have taken the direct route back. He barged into their room and began to fling his things together. He had to get out. Scorpia would probably kill him in twenty-four hours, but he had to get out.

* * *

Alex heard the scrunch of tires on tarmac.

'Brace yourselves,' he murmured. Seconds later K Unit burst in, closely followed – Alex gaped – by Alan Blunt. The five men stared for a moment at the teenagers sprawled companionably on the floor, then Wolf shot forward and grabbed Alex by the throat.

'You stupid, STUPID, insolent little KID!' he roared, shaking him bodily. Fox and Eagle ran forward and seized him by the arms, trying to drag him off.

'Wolf, take it easy on the kid. Wolf, steady on!'

They succeeded in twisting his arms behind him, but he continued to rage on at Alex. Clara stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face.

'Shut the fuck up!' she screamed. 'Just shut up!'

'You bitch!' Wolf gasped.

'I am utterly disgusted at the standards in this unit!' Clara stormed. 'Alex is the only bloody competent person in this whole fucking organisation! If it wasn't for him Id've been shot outright! And you have the nerve to-'

'Quiet, please,' said Alan Blunt. Everyone stopped. 'Miss Foster, I appreciate this is a stressful time for you, but please rest assured that we have everything under control. Alex, K Unit, come with me please.'

'Wait!' Taylor called as they began to leave. 'What happens to Alex?'

'Oh,' Wolf snarled spitefully. 'He gets paid the hundred thousand he was contracted to make friends with you all, and gets his pretty-boy arse back to London.'

'Wait…'Taylor began. Blunt seized Alex and frogmarched him from the room.

They buckled him into the army jeep and began to drive.

'Wait, what?' he yelled.

'The mission is over, Alex, we're taking you home.'

'What, no, my friends are back there! Yassen is still out there, what the hell are you-'

'You will never see those children again!' Blunt snapped, real anger flaring in his eyes.

'You bastard, take me back?' Alex had had enough. He was determined to cause as much trouble as possible. He yelled out and thrashed in his seat, kicking Eagle hard in the teeth. Blunt seized his wrists and slapped him, hard, on each cheek.

'Silence!' he shouted. 'You have violated the Official Secrets Act! You are lucky not to be killed!'

Alex lay panting on the seat, rebellion still smouldering inside him. Fighting wouldn't do any good. He had to _think._

* * *

'Well, that kind of puts us back to square one Monster-wise,' I said. Jane out her head in her hands and began to sob.

**A/N: I want to apologise for the 'set of lungs on her' line. 'Tis not very Yassen, but I couldn't think of any other way to put it. Also a somewhat belated warning about song-related rambling.**

**Alo Amicus:** Everything I am trying to convey in this story, you get. I love you.

**Tzoomi:** They will talk soon, I promise!

**Oh Rider Girl9, where are you?**


	12. Chapter 11: Vacancy

**Chapter 11: Vacancy**

**A/N: The product of my week's sojourn _sans_ Internet at my grandparents' house. Hope you enjoy.**

When Yassen panted into the hotel room at 12:30 am and found it empty, he was hardly surprised. He gave it another quarter of an hour, then phoned Julia Rothman.

'Ash is gone,' he said without preamble. 'Do you want me to get out there and look for him?'

'We already have a team on the case,' the smooth voice replied. 'They are already on his trail. I don't think he really expected to evade us for long.'

'And when they catch him?'

'He will be dealt with. I believe he has outstayed his usefulness as an assassin.'

'Of course.'

'And now…' Yassen stiffened at the subtle change in her tone… 'I understand that you and he made an assassination attempt this evening which was not successful.'

'That is correct.'

'Mr Gregorovich, what went wrong?'

'It was…difficult to coordinate.' She took the hint.

'You were not satisfied with Mr Howell as a partner, were you?'

'It was not ideal, no.'

'I would have thought you would be able to put old grievances aside, Yassen.'

'I have no grievances against him. He bore the grudge.'

'I'm sure it was trying for you. And you are quite sure it was his attitude? No old grudges – or attachments – of your own?'

Yassen was tired of this word play. 'The target was not the Rider boy,' he said brusquely. 'There is no reason why I should feel reluctant to kill a girl he has befriended for purely operational reasons.'

'Of course not.' There was a pause. 'I suggest that we wait until things have calmed down a little and then make another attempt. I think we should dispense with the accident pretext, however. Simply shoot her. But wait for my say-so. If Rider is still with her…if we plan this carefully, we may be able to dispose of both her and the agents assigned to her at once.'

Yassen murmured an assent, flicked off the phone and stood, staring into space. After a few minutes he knelt and set his suitcase on the bed. He opened it and lifted out the false bottom to reveal the violin, nestled in its black velvet. He lifted it out, set the bow on the strings and began to notebash the parts Jane had played earlier that night. On an acoustic violin they sounded more sorrowful, lacking the bright drum and piano accompaniments. He frowned, playing more slowly, assessing the tone. It had been a long time since he'd used the instrument. It was too cold, for a start, and out of tune. He couldn't tune it properly without a piano, but he got the strings to harmonise with each other, at least, then spent some time rosining the bow and checking the violin over.

He would never allow Julia Rothman or anyone else to kill Alex Rider. If and when the time came for him to act on that decision, he would face the consequences. Until then the rules that ordered his life would stay the same. He would complete the assignment and continue the life he'd chosen at nineteen. Briefly he recalled Alex, Clara and Jane, dancing on the stage as they sang Alex's rambunctious number. Alex would probably never forgive him. But he wasn't looking for redemption from this job.

* * *

_From now on, all first person is Clara's POV unless stated otherwise._

Immersed in reading, with the comfortable silence of the library around me, I could convince myself that everything was OK.

It was a pattern that had served me well for years, so why should it suddenly be wrong?

'…getting rid of all these potted plants, they're getting too scraggy, this palm has really got to go,' I heard the librarian say.

'Oh Miss, you can't kill the tree, that's mean!' Jane's voice drifted over from the non-fiction section, where she was shelving to earn brownie points.

I reapplied myself to the newspaper. My fingers were calloused from all the piano practice I'd been doing.

'Look Clara, I'm saving trees,' Jane announced, marching past with a huge pot in her hands.

'That's good.'

'Not just good, Clara, that's outstanding.'

I smiled faintly and looked back at the newspaper I was reading.

'Anything good in there?' Jane asked me.

'If by good you mean entertaining, yes. But factual? I don't know.'

'What's the latest story, then?'

'That my boyfriend…that's Rob's blue-eyed fish…tried to do me in after a bust-up between us, but there's a new angle. This journalist is banging on about the horrific rise of knife crime and now gun-crime in our society. Two rival gangs engaging in open warfare at a youth disco. They're saying that the whole place should be shut down, that modern youth is a disgrace…wasn't like the guy was so_ young_ anyway, just blame it all on the teenagers…wait…what?'

'They're blaming in on the inflaming nature of rap music?' Jane expostulated, right in my ear. 'Were they even _there_? We were playing _ABBA._'

'Nit. And look, apparently I'm some chav tart, leading on two fish at once. _'The promiscuity of today's modern teenagers'…_beautiful tautology there, nice to know our reporters can actually write…so it's all my fault if someone decides to shoot at me at a disco. Apparently.'

'Stupid, really,' Jane summarised, straightening up again.

'Sod it, I'm finding Rob,' I declared. Swearing felt good after a week of soft-spokeness, but it quickly brought on pangs of its own. I headed towards the door.

'Hi Clara.'

_Oh God._

It was a cluster of the Cool Girls who'd been so mysteriously inhabiting the library lately, standing by the desk with their faces stretched into smiles of greeting. It looked horribly painful to me.

Oh come on, did they really think I didn't know they loathed my very nature? I would have been much happier to skip the pleasantries, just to get it over with. It wasn't like I was going to refuse to answer if they just _asked the question_…

'How's your, uh, band thing going?' the girl at the fore enquired.

'Our band thing is fine, thanks,' I said shortly.

'That's cool. Um, is Alex anywhere around?'

'Sorry, he had to go back up to London for personal reasons.'

'Oh.' Her smile flickered, but she hauled it back for a few seconds. 'Do you know when he'll be back?'

'No!' I snapped. 'And I don't have his number, either.'

'Oh, that's a shame.' Her smile turned slightly sneering. We were back into water I knew. 'He was a brilliant singer. Have you found someone to fill for him?'

'Not far to look. We have Taylor.'

'But he's not exactly very good, is he?'

I stared at her coldly. 'Not good?'

'Well, Alex has actually had lessons, hasn't he? So he probably knows how to do it better,' she explained to me. 'Anyway, won't you need another guitarist?'

'Actually, Alex was, technically, a bassist.'

We both looked to see Roberta approaching us like an angel in black leather. She smiled at the girls, who shrank together slightly. 'As Josh' (Josh appeared in all his menacing Emo glory at her shoulder) 'can't play drums and bass at the same time, we might need a new bassist. Or I could play bass, or teach Taylor here to play it, or Jane could play the drums instead.'

'Jane plays the drums?' one of the girls demanded, all pretext of civility abandoned.

'Damn well,' Rob told her coolly. 'C'mon, guys, let's sit down somewhere. You got any comfy chairs in this library of yours, Clara?'

I led her over to the blue chairs as the Cool Girls stormed/fled out of the library.

'Fishing again, were they?' Rob asked me.

'Yup. One feels almost sorry for them. Hey Jane, look who's braving the library!'

The five of us – a darn uncomfortable number, I realised it was – settled down in a circle. Rob got out her guitar and began to strum very softly.

'Oh, you would not believe the blatantly obvious way we were chucked out of the music block,' Taylor told me.

'Yeah I would, that woman is the-'

'We need to talk,' Jane announced.

We all turned to look at her. 'About what?' I asked, playing for time.

'About you nearly getting shot and Alex disappearing off the face of the earth, what else?'

'I miss him,' I said slowly.

'Yes. That's my point. I wouldn't have thought I'd have felt the lack of him this much, but, you know, I do. Not just as a friend, as a band member, which is odd because with all due respect he was only a beginner.'

'He was a member when we formed it,' said Rob, 'therefore he feels like an integral part of the group dynamic. Also there was the way he dragged his feet. We all tried really hard to motivate him, it made us more motivated too.' (Rob is a psychology student).

'I'll buy that. It would explain why we haven't rehearsed in a week.' I agreed.

'I did like him, though,' said Taylor. 'Not just as a motivator or whatever.' Rob nodded.

'Oh yeah, I liked him too. God, I miss teaching him. We'd almost got far enough that he could have carried on on his own, but I'm afraid as it is he'll just fizzle out.'

'And forget.'

'If he ever cared at all,' Taylor said bitterly.

I stared at him silently for a moment, and then went across and hugged him.

'He must have liked us. He _must've._ No-one's that good an actor.'

'I think you're all skating round the real issue,' Josh announced, ignoring the emotional moment going on under his nose.

'Yes, and that is?'

'Monster. We can't do it the way we planned without an extra person, and rehearsing it will mean accepting that.' There was a painful truth in his words. They didn't apply just to Monster but to Alex's disappearance. Rehearsing without him would mean finally acknowledging that he wasn't part of the band anymore.

'Josh is right,' Jane said. 'So maybe we can't do Monster without the absent frog. Or, more specifically, we can't do it in all its glory without said frog. So maybe we'll have to pull it from our set, but _oh well._ Better people than us have fallen into the trap of getting obsessed over one tiny thing. So let's look at the bigger picture and be bold. We've got to have a rehearsal. Tonight.'

'That garage is bloody freezing,' Rob moaned.

'We'll go to my house then,' I offered. 'We can use the piano.'

'No drum kit,' Josh grunted.

'You'll be playing bass,' I told him shortly. It hurt to say it. We were filling in the holes. I remembered the last time I had seen him, through a haze of tiredness and adrenalin, framed by the psychedelic walls of Josh's garage. It didn't even look like a very plausible picture anymore.

'Are you scared?' Josh asked me.

'Yes. I have nightmares. I have nightmares about them coming for me, every single night. I have nightmares where Alex gets dragged off kicking and screaming by those soldiers, and ones where he walks off laughing. That other man with the dark hair I glimpsed across the club, I have nightmares where you and Rob turn into him. He had those haunted eyes.'

'Clara,' Rob whispered, 'I'm really, really sorry about thinking that guy was fit. I feel so stupid every time I think about it…'

'It's cool, Rob, I thought he was pretty fit too.' Rob brushed something from her eye and then said shakily:

'But you said he was too old, you said he was a superannuated non-fish.'

'I just didn't want you ending up in bed with him, that's all-'

'Clara!'

'-but a girl can dream.'

'Are us local fish not good enough for you?' Taylor pouted.

'You are very fine fish, but there's only two of you.'

'Stupid in _absentia_ Alex,' he grouched as the bell rang. 'The three of us were quite a fighting force, I thought.'

'But two just looks stingy.'

I walked side by side with Taylor, like we did in the days when the rumours about him had started and the Non-Conformists weren't together yet. If it was Alex-less, at least it was comforting and familiar. I was thinking. The disadvantage of forming a group where you don't care about society is that they stop caring about you.

Alex had been the guy all the girls fancied, the guy everyone could relate to. How ironic, that he should be the normal one. And what we all knew, deep down, was that without him we could go on and play a chart-shattering set, and the audience would clap and cheer, _but no-one would really care._

* * *

Jack was worried. Once again, it was because of Alex's assignments, but this time it was different. He'd come back without a scratch on him, but silent and brooding and carrying a truly magnificent guitar. He'd spent some time strumming at it in his room, but more time simply lying on his bed holding it, his eyes far away. She didn't really understand what the mission had been about, some girl who needed protection or something. Did they think he was a bodyguard now as well as a spy?

Jack hacked violently at the onions on the workbench, taking out some of her anger. She diced them much more thoroughly than usual before shaking them violently into a large pan in which chicken was already frying. It was Saturday, just before lunch, and she was making chicken and noodles for the two of them.

She whisked the finished noodles off the hob, and right on cue Alex appeared, mooching into the kitchen with the guitar in one hand. He stood it against the wall, eyed the salad speculatively for a moment and then began to rummage in his rucksack.

'You hungry?' she asked, trying to break the silence.

'Uh huh.'

'Alex, why do you never play that thing properly?' She nodded towards the guitar. 'You're always just lying around holding the thing.'

'Well, you see when I was playing it before I'd always be learning,' Alex said. Cryptically. 'I don't really know what to do with it now, I only know a few riffs that don't sound good on their own, but I want to keep up…' his voice petered out. His hand, still stuck in the bag, was still. Slowly he withdrew it to reveal a thin, battered booklet.

'Alex? What's that?' Jack asked, hurrying round the table.

'I've still got Taylor's chord book.' Alex sounded dazed.

'Taylor? Who's Taylor?'

'He was a boy I met while I was on my assignment…dammit, he'll be wanting it back…' Jack saw to her alarm that Alex was near tears. Even when he was small, he'd hardly ever cried. Whatever was wrong, it must be bad.

'Alex,' she said firmly, 'come and sit down.' She pushed him into a chair at the table and sat down facing him. 'Now tell me what's bothering you. What happened on this mission? Go on, spill!'

Alex told her everything. He outlined the circumstances, the poetry and the assassination attempt, even the fact that Ash and Yassen had been responsible. He felt a twinge of guilt as her face paled, but there was no point lying. Then he began to describe the Non-Conformists. He told her about the guitar lessons, the painted garage, the footie matches and the concert. He tried to explain what it had been like to belt out that song into the microphone, and the peaceful feeling of belonging he had felt as they lounged in the library or on the field, enjoying a mix of highbrow discussion and low humour. Jack was silent for a long time after he'd finished, twirling her cold noodles round her fork.

'So that's why you're in such a foul mood,' she said at last. 'You've been missing these kids.'

'I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't mean to make life difficult for you.' She gave him a brief smile.

'And you told them about your spying? You must have been either very mad, or very sane. And then that Blunt guy dragged you bodily back to London?'

'He would have done if I'd made him.'

'And the whole reason he assigned you in the first place is because he wanted you to shoot this guy Yassen, who turns out to be alive?'

'Uh, yeah, pretty much.'

'That bastard! He has got it in for you, I swear! I've got a mind to go down there and give him a bollocking! Has he actually forbidden you to go back to Essex?'

'No, but put it this way, I doubt he would condone it?'

'Hmmm.' Jack pondered. 'This Clara.'

'Yeah?'

'What would she suggest, do you think?'

'She would say…go down there and give him a bollocking. They all would."

'What you say that's what we do?'

'I like the idea. In principle. But we need some kind of plan, he's got all that government clout and other crap-'

'Don't swear, Alex.'

Alex was still rolling his eyes when the doorbell rang. 'I'll get it,' he said, hauling himself to his feet.

'If it's anyone from MI6 we can bollock them on the spot.'

'And she tells me not to swear,' Alex sighed as if to himself as he left the room. Jack shook her head and swallowed a mouthful of cold noodles. She thought he already looked happier, just from getting it off his chest. She liked that. It made her feel, if only for a few minutes, not entirely useless.

* * *

In the hall, Alex pulled the door open and froze.

'Eagle!?' he yelled, then slammed the door in the man's face. An insistent knocking immediately started up on the other side.

'Cub, be reasonable, open up.' Alex opened the door again and the SAS man stumbled across the threshold and landed in Jack's arms.

'Alex, who the hell is this?' she demanded, shoving him off her.

'He's one of the guys from the SAS unit,' Alex glowered. 'Eagle, we call him. God knows why.'

'So he's with MI6?' Jack asked, her eyes glittering.

'Involved, yeah.'

'Right.' She took a step towards Eagle, who eyed her with alarm. 'You can just get back to your cold conniving self absorbed boss and tell him-'

'Wait, wait, I don't know why you're going off on me now!'

'Hello, you're the ones who dragged me kicking and screaming away from my friends just last week!' Alex snarled, though he was having doubts as to whether he actually had the right to dress Eagle down. The man had helped to wrestle Wolf off him, and he was still sporting impressive bruises where Alex had kicked him.

'Why are you here?' he asked more calmly.

'I'm a deputation, I guess. The guys – I mean Fox and Snake – and I have been thinking about the way Wolf went off on you, and, uh…look, can we sit down?'

Alex had never seen anyone looking so awkward. The sight of the big SAS man cringing like this was pretty comical, in fact. They ushered him through to the living room and settled on the sofa, while he took the armchair opposite them.

'Look, Alex,' Eagle sighed, 'we were jerks to you in the Beacons. We didn't even have anything against you, we just sat back and let Wolf rip it out of you because he was the leader. He's a quick thinker, you know, brilliant in a crisis, but he's damn unstable if you ask me. All he thinks about is his profession; you saw how he reacted when you told your friends the truth. We think he's got away with crap for too long, so we thought you might like to know we're going to be standing up to him a bit from now on.'

'Ri-ight,' Alex said slowly. Beside him Jack's face was still dark with suspicion.

'So anyway, we thought we should make it up to you somehow?'

'Oh God. Like how?'

'Well, Fox thought we could maybe take you on a pony ride along the beach sometime…'

'What beach? Anyway, I hate riding.'

'Well aren't you a ray of sunshine? Anyway, we overrode him, no pun intended. So from all the kicking and screaming…and jaw-kicking…I take it you didn't want to leave the school?'

There wasn't much to say to that. 'Nope.'

'How'd you like to come along with me and blackmail Mr Blunt this afternoon?'

'Sounds like fun. When do we leave?'

'Right now, if you want.' Eagle stood up. 'Is that OK with you?' he asked Jack.

'Yes, and I will have your bag ready when you get back and if you don't _bring_ him back I will not rest until I have hunted you down and sawed off your head with a rusty spoon.'

Eagle gulped. 'You have my word,' he vowed. 'C'mon, Cub, let's get going.'

Eagle drove them down to Liverpool Street in the same jeep they had used on the assignment. As they drew up outside the bank Alex saw Snake, Fox and Wolf waiting for them. Snake and Fox looked nervous, Wolf livid.

'Hi, gents,' Eagle said, marching up with a hand on Alex's shoulder. 'Let's do this thing.'

'You stop this now or I swear you'll regret it!' Wolf snarled, stepping in front of them.

'Pack it in, man. We owe this to Cub and you know it.'

'Cub,' Wolf said. 'Don't be an idiot. You're a professional spy now, you can't just go blowing the Official Secrets Act whenever you feel like it and getting attachments all over the place-'

'Like a Swiss Army knife,' Eagle remarked.

'These men are risking their careers just to get you back to your friends-for-five-minutes…'

'What?' Alex blurted, stopping dead.

'Don't listen to him, Cub, we can make our own choices,' Fox said softly. They entered the building, leaving Wolf fuming on the pavement. After a moment he stormed after them.

They halted outside the office that Alex had been brought to so many times before. He'd always entered before or after a mission, at the beck and call of MI6. Only once before had he come here of his own violation, with Sabina. That had ended well…not. Would this time be different? He hoped so.

Wolf came hurrying up the stairs. He came to a halt in front of them, glaring.

'You boys want to think about this,' he said.

'Blunt knows when he's on to a loser, Wolf-man. He _can_ be reasonable.'

'I hope you're right.' Wolf was calming down a bit. 'You've been a good team, I wouldn't want to lose you.'

'Wolf, are you actually _paying us a compliment_?'

'Hey, you know what they'll do to me. They'll give me a whole bunch of rookies to lick into shape. Lots of little Cubs.' He rolled his eyes expressively.

Snake was knocking on the door. 'Right, you guys all ready?' he asked. Alex saw him swallowed and wondered exactly what it was K Unit were planning to do.

'Come on, Wolf,' Eagle said suddenly. 'Do something decent for once in your life.' The door opened. Eagle seized Wolf and, ignoring his protests, dragged him into the office. Once they were in side they all fell silent. Alex looked across at Alan Blunt, sitting composed as ever behind his desk, Mrs Jones at his shoulder.

'You wished to see me?' he said.

'Mr Blunt.' Eagle seemed to be elected spokesperson. 'I wanted to tell you that if you don't allow Cub back to see his friends, I will be handing in my notice.'

'That is a great shame for you. And your colleagues, what do they have to say?'

'We'd just like to reiterate Eagle's ultimatum,' Fox said calmly.

'All of you?' Blunt raised his eyebrows. Fox glanced over his shoulder at Wolf and sighed.

'Not quite all, I think,' he admitted.

'I see.' Alex thought he could detect a note of smugness in Blunt's voice now. '

'Alex.' It was Mrs Jones speaking now. Alex sensed that the argument was over. She was moving in to pick up the pieces. 'You must understand that we simply cannot allow such flouting of our security policies. Once the assassination attempt had failed, it was no longer an economic use of our human resources to have you there…'

'I wouldn't say it was an economic use of your human resources to chuck away an entire SAS unit either,' Wolf growled.

Snake clapped him wordlessly on the shoulder. No-one else moved or spoke. Blunt's face hadn't changed, but where it had been still before, it was now rigid. Alex saw that the balance had been tipped. They might be able to part with three rank-and-file soldiers, but not a unit leader.

'If he has already told them, it can't do any more harm…' Mrs Jones suggested quietly. Blunt considered briefly.

'While the immediate danger is over, I am sure that Scorpia will make another attempt in due course. It might be…beneficial…to have you all back in the field until we can eradicate the threat once and for all. All arrangements regarding cover and accommodation are still in place. I want you back down there as soon as possible.' With a nod, he indicated that the interview was over.

* * *

'Oh, so now it was all _his_ idea,' Alex grumbled as soon as they were outside.

'Don't knock it, Cub, at least he did what we wanted.'

'True. Guess he can't afford to lose that much face. You guys totally swung it for me, thanks a lot.' Alex knew better than to praise Wolf lavishly. He just grinned at the unit _tout court._

'Aw Cub, don't,' Eagle exclaimed, pretending to blush.

'Come on,' Wolf grunted, 'if we've got to tail after those kids for another month we might as well get going.'

Jack was waiting in the hall when they got back, Alex's bag packed up at her feet. Alex felt a twinge of guilt at the veiled worry in her eyes.

'Don't worry about me,' he said softly, hugging her. 'This really isn't dangerous compared to the other stuff I've been doing. I'll call every night if you like.'

'Bye, Alex. Just don't…don't get caught in any explosions, OK? Or…side tracked into anything more dangerous.'

'Contrary to appearances, I don't actually have a death wish, Jack.'

'Clean your teeth.'

'I always do.' He jogged out to the jeep, slung his bag into the boot and scrambled in next to Eagle.

'Could have fooled me about the teeth,' the man muttered, poking him. 'Move over, you're squishing me.'

'You wouldn't be squished if you weren't so fat,' Alex quipped back – one low blow deserved another, in his opinion. He twisted round to wave to Jack. Standing in the doorway she looked very alone, the last outpost of his old life. Briefly he wondered what he was doing, flinging himself willingly back into the world of espionage.

Waterloo, couldn't escape if I wanted to…

Was it really his fate to lead this life? Alex felt a twinge of misgiving. It was always when he thought his assignments were over that he was plunged into the most dangerous part. But this was different. He just wanted to see his friends. And he wouldn't get sidetracked.

**A/N: I invite people to guess at where this story is going, because it gives me a sense of power (it also subtly guides my hand… knowing what you are inferring influences my decisions!) Any aspect, big or small, from the entire plot to an individual punch-up, romance, whatever. Just so I can gloat. :)**

**Rider Girl9: Glad you found it fast-moving, rather than ramble-and-disect-songs-ish. Sounds like a good deal to me.**

**Wolfmonster: Glad you picked up on the 'they don't know if he likes them' thing. When Blunt and K Unit first came they didn't know, but Wolf jumped to conclusions because he is a career maniac, and their reaction proved that they knew. I'm not sure if Blunt would slap people, but in recent books we have seen cracks appearing from time to time, and to me it just seemed to fit. **

**It's debatable whether not shooting a person makes you good...he's certainly not as evil as he would like, though. **

**Questions: Are you an Ash fan who would like to see him make good in the end? Earlier on you said I should change my summary, is that because it is suggestive of Mary Sues and cliches? I want to know what's wrong with it.**


	13. Chapter 12: Of Hugs and Hyperness

Chapter 12: Of Hugs and Hyperness

**A/N: It is a horrible, horrible feeling when you think you've opened your fanfiction and suddenly your Drama coursework is staring you in the face saying things like: 'The play Blood Brothers is primarily an exploration of the social divide and it's effects on the individual.' Because I know that, when I write things like that, I am totally fake.**

I woke up with that overwhelming rush of relief that accompanies the realisation that

it is Saturday morning. No school. No coursework. Just rest.

I was feeling oddly optimistic. A feeling that, even though I was still sad now, more

good times were sure to come. It might have been the streams of energising photons

entering the window from the newly risen sun (wow, it must have been late – up with

the sun in November) or the advent of the weekend, or the success of last night's

rehearsal. Probably the weather. I went to the window and pulled back the curtains,

letting the light into my room properly. Ah. The sky was huge and blue, practically

summery, and the street looked amazingly right. Complete, as though something I

hadn't noticed was missing had been replaced.

Too hungry to think about it. I slung on track pants and a top and sallied forth to the

kitchen, weighing up the merits of croissants and coffee against bacon sandwiches. I

went with croissants, because I felt like a coffee and coffee doesn't go with bacon.

Just as I was finishing off the doorbell rang.

I was already turning the handle when two thoughts came to me literally one on top of

the other. The first was that it was very stupid to just open the door when it could be

an assassin on the other side. The second was that I knew what was right about the

street. There was a bloody great army jeep parked on it.

* * *

Alex was feeling stupidly nervous. The fact was that he had no idea how Clara would

receive him. He was standing on the porch, staring at her door knocker, K Unit

forming a supportive line behind him which could just as easily turn into a barrier to

escape, should the need arise. He was, effectively, hemmed in.

'Knock on the door already,' Eagle whined.

'Alright, alright, don't rush me OK?' He thought he'd achieved an acceptably blasé

tone. He seized the knocker, raised it and thundered.

A mercifully short pause, and then the door flew open to reveal Clara. Her face

flickered through a wild variety of expressions before she managed to rein it in to

polite interest.

'Alex?'

There wasn't much to say to that. 'Yup.'

'You're back?'

'Yup?'

'How and why?' she asked, her voice too level.

'Uhhm.' He shrugged. 'To play in the concert and stave off assassins on the side?'

'ALEX!' Clara had disappeared from his field of vision, and next thing he knew he

was being manically hugged while K Unit scattered to the four winds around him.

'Oh my God, I've missed you!' Clara was screaming. 'I was so freaked out when you

vanished like that, it's been hell trying to organise the band and we're all in a sort of

soup of despondency and being blanked by the Cool Girls…come in, come in!' She

dragged him towards the door, turned and waved K Unit forward. 'Come _in_, come

_in_!' They all shuffled forwards into the house like men headed for the firing squad. As

Clara slammed the door and turned to face them Wolf visibly flinched.

'Stuart,' she greeted. 'Fox, Eagle…wow, you're bruised.'

'Cub kicked me in the face.'

'I hate to think what you must have been doing to him. We shall have words.' She

glared pointedly at Wolf, then turned back to Alex, hugged him again (at what cost to

his ribs?) and enquired:

'Want a drink? Tea, coffee?'

'Coffee,' Alex panted, seizing at the chance to regain any level of control over the

situation.

'Right, of course. Come through to the living room, sit down! Wait, I have to call the

others!' While Alex and K Unit lowered themselves, tensed, into armchairs, Clara

gabbled into the phone.

'Rob, Rob, guess who's here, it's Alex!'

Roberta's shriek was audible from across the room.

'Can you call round the others, I have coffee to make! Great! Bye, see you! So

happy!' She slammed the phone down, trilled:

'You're here, you're here!' hugged him once more and plunged out of the room.

'Oh my God,' said Fox and put his head in his hands. Alex glanced around, then

snuck out into the hall. He could here sounds of frantic coffee-making coming from

the kitchen, and crept, very quietly so as not to attract Clara's notice, into the shadow

of the stairs. Once there, he pulled out his mobile and hit speed dial.

'_Come on, pick up…_'

'Yo?'

'Taylor, it's me, Alex!'

'Alex?!?! Where are you?'

'I'm at Clara's.'

'You mean you're back?'

'Yes.' Alex raised himself slightly out of his crouch, looking left and right. 'Listen,

you have to get here _now_. She has gone totally hyper and is trying to hug me!'

'Hang in there, bruv, I'm on my way.'

Alex flicked his phone off and hurried back into the living room. Right, he just had to

stay alive for five minutes, and hope Taylor could sort it…five minutes…

Clara reappeared, skittering into the room at alarming speed seeing as she was

carrying five mugs of scalding coffee.

'So brilliant.' Crikey, how long could she keep this up? She distributed mugs to K

Unit, all of whom looked on the verge of breakdown. Really, Alex thought irritably,

they were being totally useless. These were the men trained to maintain the security of

the nation, and all they could do was sit and twitch.

He was interrupted from his mental rant by the rattle of a bike pulling up outside.

'Someone's here!' Clara pointed out, clutching at his arm. He held his hot coffee out

of her reach as best he could. Next moment Taylor opened the door without knocking

and strode into the room.

'Hey,' he said.

'Hi,' Alex managed.

Clara relinquished her grip on Alex's arm and bore down on Taylor who stood, alone

and unflinching, in the centre of the room. He didn't attempt to escape as she flung

her arms around him, but instead returned the embrace with equal enthusiasm. There

was a pause, and then Clara began to wriggle. Taylor refused to let her budge an inch.

'The trick,' he said over her shoulder, 'is to out-hug her. A little oxygen deprivation

will soon calm her down.' Alex and K Unit were watching him with speechless admiration.

'Taylor,' came Clara's muffled voice, 'can't…breath…'

'Clara, you mustn't hug Alex if he doesn't want to be hugged,' Taylor said

reasonably. 'It isn't kind.'

'Yes it is, it's an expression of affection.'

'There's a fine line between a hug and a strangle.'

'Well, when you put it like that…OK, no more hugging.'

'Promise?'

'Promise. NOW LET ME BREATH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!'

Taylor released Clara, who staggered backwards and collapsed onto the sofa.

'Oxygen! Sweet oxygen!'

'Thank you so much,' Alex said fervently.

'No problem.' Taylor grasped his hand briefly and grinned. 'So…you didn't get

court-marshalled?'

'Er, no…'

'Cool.'

'Fish are so awkward,' Clara broke in. 'Don't worry, Alex, I'm out of hyperjuice so why

don't you sit down?'

Cautiously Alex settled between them on the sofa.

'I'm glad you're back,' Clara said softly.

'Yeah, me too,' Taylor muttered. They both wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Gently, at least. Alex supposed it wasn't so bad really, being hugged.

'So how'd you escape?' Clara asked.

'_We_ all went and threatened to give our notice if Blunt didn't let him come back,'

Wolf said loudly.

'Oh, er, wow.'

'I don't think you'll need to have words with them, they're alright really,' Alex

grinned. 'Here comes someone else.'

There was the roar of a motorbike from outside, and Alex caught a glimpse of

Roberta's distinctive pink hair under the helmet. Someone, Josh from the look of it,

was riding pillion. K Unit all shuffled about in their seats and fiddled with their hair.

The three on the sofa sniggered.

Clara went out to open the door and returned with Roberta beside her, clad in full

motorbike leathers and pulling off her helmet. She looked coolly around the room,

but when her eyes lit on Alex her face shifted into an expression of wild delight.

'Alex!' She bounded across the room and hauled him off the sofa and into her arms.

'Not you too!' Alex wailed, while K Unit ground their teeth behind him.

'Huh?' Rob said quizzically.

'What is it with girls and strangling those they profess to love?'

'Wow, the flowery language really is catching.'

'Hello Roberta,' Wolf called hopefully. She rounded on him.

'I was not finished with him when you dragged him away into the night,' she said

crisply, pointing at Alex. 'Do you know how it's haunted me, never teaching him the

chord of B minor 7th?'

'We're sorry…wait, the chord of what?' Fox asked helplessly.

'But from a purely professional point of view, you have really shot yourselves in the

foot. Do you know, I didn't even believe Alex when he first came out with all this

spying bullshit. But you all storming in and losing it pretty much proved his point,

didn't it?'

'Rob, Rob,' Alex called. 'You can lay off, they've made it up to me!'

'Well good.' Roberta breathed out heavily through her nose and stalked to the sofa.

Alex felt pretty sorry for K Unit; they looked utterly crushed. There was an awkward

silence before Alex noticed Josh still standing silently in the corner.

'Hi Josh.'

'Hi Alex,' Josh grunted. 'Y'allright?'

'Yes.'

'Catch the football last night?'

'No.'

'Chelsea one two-nil.'

'Cool.'

'You support Chelsea?'

'Yes.' Nice, sensible questions with an easy answer. Alex silently thanked God for Josh.

Jane didn't make it 'till the middle of the day, her family being busy people, but when

she did she arrived with a bang.

'I've brought my violin!' she announced. 'Why are you all sitting there gazing

adoringly into each others' eyes? The concert is in two weeks. _Two weeks_, people!

Come on, lets go go go!'

'Alright, Jane, alright,' Clara said. 'Give us a minute, here!'

'I've brought my guitar!' Rob called, springing to her feet.

'On the back of a motorbike?'

'Yes. Come on, Alex, get cracking!'

'Oh no-o-o,' Alex groaned. 'You are all complete psychos!'

'If you didn't want to practise, Alex, you shouldn't have brought your bass,' Rob told

him. Alex grimaced, caught out.

'You know you love it really. Now give me a chord of G major.'

Alex obeyed.

'D minor? E flat major?'

He rattled them off, feeling quite pleased with himself.

'And now I'm going to teach you a new one. Third finger on the second fret, bridge these two strings…'

'OK, bridge…OW!'

'Relax your wrist, relax…you've got it. Now play.'

'Is that B minor 7th?' Alex asked, strumming a rhythm.

'It is indeed. And now you can play guitar.'

'Oh good.'

'Let's take Monster, straight from the top!' Clara bellowed. Her saxophone was slung,

glittering and resplendent, across her chest.

'We should go,' Wolf said, standing abruptly.

'Come on, it's only a coven of music boffs,' Alex crowed.

'We need to stake out the perimeter.'

'Sure, sure, I know it makes you feel important.'

'Impudent little…' Wolf muttered, heading for the door. On an impulse Alex

followed, catching up with the in the porch.

'Guys?'

'What do you want, Cub?'

'Look, I am grateful-'

'Grateful? You're suicidal.'

'I just wanted to say I do appreciate it. I like those guys…'

'Cub, you're not trying to tell us about your feelings, are you?'

'No.' Alex gave up. 'Just…thanks.'

Eagle smiled suddenly. 'No problem, Cub,' he said, stepping forward.

'Do NOT try to hug me!'

'Wouldn't dream of it. Now get your ass back inside.' Alex darted back through the

door and slammed it shut behind him.

'There you are!' Clara called. 'Come on, Alex, take it away.'

On the whole it was probably a good thing K Unit were gone. He forced himself to

belt out the notes even though he felt like dieing, but it couldn't have sounded that

bad because Clara said:

'You're coming on, Alex, really coming on.'

'You've been practising those riffs, haven't you?' Rob said approvingly.

'To the point of obsessiveness.'

' T'is the obsessive who make the world go round. Come on, let's try Mercy. Jane, I

think you should sing this one.'

'But it's got so much electric violin, that doesn't make sense.'

'I can do that on the keyboard. I just think it suits your voice.'

Jane glared suspiciously at Clara. It looked like she was going to retaliate, but then

they noticed Taylor and Alex, who were crouching with their arms wrapped round

their heads like victims of a plane crash.

'OK, I'll _try_ to sing it,' Jane said slowly, still eyeing Clara warily.

'If it doesn't work you can go back on to violin,' Clara promised. 'OK, rhythm guitar

please, Taylor.'

It was the longest and most gruelling rehearsal Alex had ever sat through. He was

almost glad whenever he had to sing, it was so exhausting to think your way through

all the bass chords. And yet he was happy. He could feel a wild joy emanating

constantly from the others; they constantly tried to pull him into the middle of things,

physically and mentally. Re-establishing old bonds. It had been ages since he'd felt

this sense of belonging. They knew his secret, and he knew theirs. The music.

Whatever he'd expected when he told them the truth, it hadn't been this.

Clara finally called a halt. 'It's ten to eight, guys, I think you'd better decamp to your

respective homes.'

'She's kicking us out,' Jane translated.

'Jane. Fabulous rehearsal guys, we've got the running order down now so we can fill

in our entry form on Monday.'

There was a flurry of activity as everyone packed up their instruments. Alex hoisted

his guitar case onto his back with that sense of anticlimax that comes at the end of a

day with friends. He looked up and found that he was somehow on the opposite side

of the room from the others. They were lined up, their instruments in hand, with

solemn faces. Suddenly Alex couldn't hold the emotion in any more.

'I love you guys,' he blurted.

'Oh, Alex.' Clara's eyes were suddenly too bright. With a weary sigh Alex spread his

arms to hug her. 'I'm so glad you're back,' she whispered, embracing him tightly.

'Yeah, me too.' Alex gently extricated himself and moved to hug each of the others.

'We all succumb to smooshyness eventually,' Josh remarked when his turn came,

thumping Alex on the back.

'Ow bruv.'

'Come on, let's break this love fest up already!' Josh yelled. 'Rob, you taking me

home or what?'

'Yes, you insensitive bug. Bye, Alex. On Monday I'll start teaching you alternative

fingerings. In case you bust a string or something in a concert, or can't use a certain

fingering for any reason.' With this parting shot she strode from the room, Josh in her

wake.

'See you on Monday, Alex,' Jane called, hurrying after them. Alex, Taylor and Clara

were left alone in the living room.

'See you two fish whenever,' Clara said, walking them to the door.

'Tomorrow probably.'

'Sounds good. Ciao!'

'God my wrist hurts,' Alex griped as Taylor picked his bike up from beside the wall.

'She worked you pretty hard. Those girls can be right psychos.'

'You're telling me. You're a braver man than I am.'

'Years of experience. You weren't doing so badly yourself.'

'I didn't quite expect that,' Alex admitted. 'You know, all the overjoyed hugging and

stuff. I wasn't sure if she wouldn't be mad at me…'

'Why the hell would she have been mad at you?' Taylor demanded, twisting round on

his bike. 'You saved her life.'

'Some people don't take that too well.'

'Some people are bastards,' Taylor shrugged.

'But I mean…' Alex scrabbled for the right words. He couldn't expect Taylor to sit

there on his bike all night. 'I didn't think you would all have missed me that much.

I'm not that good at bass-'

'But we _like_ you, frog!' Taylor interrupted, pushing off his bike. 'See you!'

His voice seemed to grow lower and quieter as he disappeared into the night. Alex

vaguely remembered some science topic about wavelengths increasing or decreasing

as an object moved away from or towards you. He'd missed most of it, of course.

He'd have to ask Clara on Monday.

**A/N: Total plotless fluff, I know. It was also very writer's blocked in places. Feel free to tell me if it shows.**

**Rider Girl9:** Sorry, not all your questions are going to be answered straight away...it's going to be a while before I bring Ash back into it. If you're really loosing interest tell me and I'll try to speed things up a bit. I'm guessing you prefer action to character relations?

**Wolfmonster:** I am so delighted that you like Clara's POV. Glad you like my characterisations of K Unit, it looks like I'm managing to make them my own.


	14. Chapter 13: Signup

Chapter 13: Signup

**A/N: I cannot apologise enough for the long gap. It was caused by coursework and general laziness. I would like to thank all my loyal readers and hope you haven't expired from suspense. Or maybe I'm just flattering myself.**

'This is it, guys,' Clara said in the car on Monday morning. She was edgy, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel as they waited for the traffic lights to turn. 'I've got our running order all worked out: we get five songs. Now we've gotta sign up.'

'Y'allright, bruv?' Taylor asked, poking Alex.

'Of course, why d'you ask?'

'Because you're looking vaguely green.'

'Oh, right.'

Alex couldn't deny it to himself; his stomach was churning with nerves. He'd managed not to think about it too much with everything that had been going on, but the fact remained: assassins or no assassins, in just under two weeks' time he would have to get up on stage, in front of hordes of teenagers all baying for blood, and make or break this band's reputation. It was a bigger thing that Roberta has assumed when she remarked 'kind of lame, isn't it?' in the canteen. Some cool kid somewhere had decided that it was the hot ticket for the evening, and suddenly it seemed like the whole school was going. Or so the others had told him. Alex hadn't been back to school since the incident in the nightclub.

They drew up outside the school where Jane and Josh were waiting for them. It looked as though they were in the middle of some technical explanation; Josh was waving his hands around while Jane listened with fierce concentration. They broke off when they saw the car pull up and came drifting over.

'Morning all,' Josh said ironically. He nodded towards Alex. 'I give him five minutes once he walks through those gates.'

'What do you mean?' Alex demanded, seeing the grimaces and eye-rolls travelling round the rest of the band.

'You can expect…a bit of a reception this morning,' Clara explained. 'Quite a few people have been asking after you.'

'Quite a few…wait…oh no.'

'Oh yes.'

'_Oh no._'

'Oh _yes_.'

'Come on, this could go on all morning,' Jane interrupted. 'I'm sure Alex will handle his admirers with tact and diplomacy. Now come _on_, I don't want to be late!'

'See you in Chemistry, Alex,' Josh called. '_If_ you survive registration, that is.'

'Thanks, mate. Thank you so much.'

'Oh come on, Alex, it could be fun,' Taylor said as he, Alex and Clara hurried up the stairs to their form room.

'_Fun_,' Clara muttered in rampant-feminist tones.

'Never said it wouldn't be, did I?'

'Well, whatever turns you on,' Clara sighed. 'Now just enter the room normally and you might have a chance to get to your seat.' She pushed open the door to the form room and stepped in.

'Hi Clara!' a girl yelled from the back. Alex recalled that this was something she did every morning.

'Yo Taylor, you catch the score on the football?'

They made their way to their chairs and sat down. It wasn't until they were well settled that one of the boys did a double take.

'Alex? I thought you were out of town?'

'Well, I got back.'

'Oh, cool.' Before the news could get round the teacher came sweeping in to do the register. A few people glanced back at Alex in surprise as he exited for his first class, but no-one stopped him. Still, was it really normal to pay so much attention to the absences of a classmate? It looked like the others had been right.

He made it to first period without undue attention, but as he was sliding into his seat the girl next to him stared in astonishment, then shot across the room to whisper to her friends. By the end of second period people were twisting round in their chairs to look at him.

Then the bell went and all hell broke loose.

'Alex!' he was intercepted by a pair of girls as soon as he stepped outside his classroom.

'Hi. Look, can we move, I'm blocking the door.'

He received a smouldering, 'you're so conscientious' look for that, before Taylor came bounding over.

'Hi girls,' he grinned, surreptitiously catching Alex's eye.

'Boys!'

The cluster of people around them all shut up abruptly. Clara was calling them, with Josh, Jane and Roberta around her. Alex didn't think he'd ever seen Jane and Clara present such a united front; Jane was glowering at the girls with even more enthusiasm than Clara. An enthusiastic glare. That was the kind of bizarre concept Alex was getting used to.

'We're signing up!' Clara announced. She didn't seem to care who heard.

'Good luck with that, boff!' one of the boys called. 'Maybe you'll play us a concerto or something.'

'It's pronounced con_shair_to,' Clara said coolly. 'But actually a rock and roll version isn't such a bad idea.' Alex and Taylor detached themselves from their fanclub and clustered around the notice board. The others, except for Clara and Jane, were glancing around nervously; they hadn't bargained on doing this in front of an audience.

The signup sheet was pinned prominently in the middle, surrounded by flyers, already with several slots filled in by other bands. Most people had chosen to play somewhere near the beginning, but the first number of the night was still free. No one had dared to claim that top spot yet.

Clara pulled out a pen, considered, then wrote their name in the empty first space. A time a few slots down. Then the last number before the interval, a spot in the second half, and the final number.

'You reckon it's OK to grab all the best spaces?' Alex asked.

'If it wasn't they wouldn't have made it first come, first served, Alex,' she answered coolly, and wrote down their songs. It's Raining Men} Cover. Mercy. Sugar We're Going Down. Monster. Hey Kid} Cover.

'Monster, what's that about?' One of the girls asked. Alex jumped, he had been so absorbed in the signup sheet.

'Drug abuse,' Rob said shortly.

'Oh. Well, sounds interesting.' She gave a brave, even cordial smile.

'It's Raining Men Sucks,' someone else said.

'Well we're not really asking for you're opinion, are we?' Jane called back.

'Actually we are,' Taylor pointed out as the crowd dispersed. 'I always did wonder what Monster was about, Rob. The lyrics get pretty confusing.'

'I was running a temperature of nearly a hundred when I wrote them. My mum told me to stay in bed, but I was having all these really weird dreams and so I got up and drafted the song out in my nightdress. It literally just came into my head fully formed. Then my mum caught me and went absolutely mental. But hey, aptitude is pain.'

* * *

Their days took on a rhythmic pattern. School, rehearse, get kicked out of the practise rooms, rant in Josh's garage and rehearse some more. Hot chocolate and brainstorming sessions at Clara's. The odd night off for homework. What with all that, Alex was sleeping better than he had done for months.

November arrived, and Josh drew a life size portrait of K Unit on the garage wall, and wreathed it round with blurry poppies. He lead them away in a fluttering trail, blowing across the field he had drawn to contain his friends, right up to where Alex sat, poring over his textbook. He replaced Alex's pen with a single flower, twirled absently between his fingers.

'Thanks, Josh,' Alex snorted, grappling with his bass.

'You're welcome.'

'It is rather doomed youf, isn't it?' Jane agreed, pacing in front of the painting.

'Nah, I just worked out how to draw a good blurry poppy, that's all.'

Alex had now decided once and for all that he was never taking a job in private security. Not that Clara was boring, but the way he was chained to her all the time was trying, for both of them, he suspected. Now that she knew the truth he had to spend the whole evening with her at her house, while K Unit patrolled outside. They talked, ate cookies or played games some of the time, but eventually Clara just had to leave him alone to do her homework, and then he had nothing to do but sit around and watch her angst over boring him. The others were spending more and more time with them, but they had to go home to their respective families sooner or later, and he and Clara were stuck with each other. Often, even when neither of them had work to do, they would be stuck for conversation, and then awkward silence would reign. It was during one such evening that Clara asked him about MI6.

'How many assignments have you done?' she enquired.

'Seven, but one of those was off my own bat.'

'Good Lord.' She absorbed this for a while. 'Why would you do that? I got the impression you hated spying.'

'I do, but you know, when you've been doing it for a while you find you just can't leave things alone.'

'Like when I can't stop myself from helping out year sevens massacring their music, even when it makes them hate me?'

'Yes, a bit like that. That's why they wanted me in the first place.'

'Tell me about it. Yassen…killed your uncle and then what?'

'I…well, it's complicated.'

'Begin at the beginning, then. And work your way through to the end. That's what I do when I write.'

'OK, the beginning. I suppose that would be when my uncle died. I was taken to the London office – they pretend to be a bank, you know – and they recruited me. Told me they would deport my housekeeper Jack if I didn't complete my uncle's assignment and sent me off for training with the SAS. That was where I met Wolf and the others.'

'What were they like to train with?'

'Hell.'

'So they just recruited you, just like that? Sounds…risky.'

'My uncle had been training me how to drive and pickpocket and do karate and things. We could easily have afforded a private school, but he sent me to one of the toughest ones in the district so I could learn to look out for myself. And when I was at the bank, I wanted to see what was in my uncle's study, so I jumped out of the window of the office I was in and onto the flagpole, and then through the window of my uncle's.'

'And this was _how_ high up?'

'Seventeen stories.'

'Bloody hell. Now I see why they hired you. What happened then?'

'You remember the Stormbreaker? A man called Herod Sayle was going to give one to every school in the country.'

'Yes. I was dreading trying to learn to work the thing, IT's not my strong point. But there was some kind of technical fault.'

'It wasn't a technical fault…'

Haltingly he told Clara the story of his first assignment, all the way up to his rooftop meeting with Yassen Gregorovich.

'And he didn't shoot you?' Clara was round eyed, watching him steadily. Alex spread his arms.

'I'm still here.'

'Did you ever find out why?'

'Yes, but…I'll come to that later.'

'Ah, re-incorporation. I'm liking this. But it's getting late, you'd better be getting home.'

The next day Clara told the rest of the Non-Conformists, in brief, what Alex had told her. It was odd, hearing his story related by someone else, especially the way Clara told it, bringing everything in in its proper place, making it flow. Then he kicked off from when he saw Skoda outside Brookland, the crane, the second assignment. They listened open-mouthed, exclaiming and swearing in appropriate places.

'He frikin' cloned _himself_?' Roberta shrieked.

'Hey Alex, remember when I told you I'd nicked a crane?' Taylor shook his head in disbelief.

'I'm intrigued by the gadgets you mentioned; tell us about the gadgets.' Jane requested. Alex enumerated the equipment he had received on his first two missions; the game-boy, the CD player, the earring and the yo-yo.

'Hmm, the zit-cream sound interesting, I wonder what the chemistry would be for that.'

Their appetite for his stories was insatiable. Alex found that the more he told them, the easier it was, and he learned how to structure his accounts, introducing everything at the right place and time so that it sounded like a proper story. Josh started a new section on his wall: Alex Rider, Great Escapes. It contained comic-book style drawings of Alex smashing the jellyfish tank, yo-yoing his way onto the plane, jumping on a horse from in front of a railway train. But they did respond seriously when needed. He had been dreading telling them about his involvement with Scorpia, but had decided from Clara's first question that he would. They listened quietly, showing shock but no disgust.

'You don't hate me?' he asked when he was done.

'I don't think we're the ones to judge, really,' Clara murmured. 'You saved my life.'

* * *

'Can I borrow your jeep?' Clara asked K Unit one school morning. 'I need to pick up Josh and Jane with a few instruments and my car's not big enough.'

'Sure,' Snake told her, 'it's licensed.' He walked with them to the jeep, which crouched like some monstrous animal in the front drive.

'Cripes,' Clara exclaimed, leaning down to look under the seats. 'You could hide a small platoon under here.'

'Now are you sure you can handle this thing?' Snake asked, holding up the keys. 'It's not quite like a normal car.'

'Only one way to find out,' Clara replied, vaulting into the driver's seat. She revved up the engine. 'Uh-oh, you're right…oh come on you bugger.'

'We're all going to die,' Alex remarked.

Their arrival to school was even more conspicuous than usual.

'Clara, where's your nice car?' a girl – the same one who had enquired about Monster – asked.

'That thing ate it,' Clara replied as they struggled into the music block with the drum Josh had insisted on bringing in, to see if it fit with the school drum kit.

'Oh, I see. Well, have a good rehearsal.' She and her friends hurried off, muttering in clear speculation. They left the drum in a practise room and came back at lunch to rehearse. They spent a productive twenty minutes, but after a while the music began to falter, giving place to conversation. Almost automatically Alex launched into a spy-related anecdote.

'Wow, you could make a thriller out of this stuff,' Clara said enthusiastically.

'Maybe when Blunt's been digested by his own stomach and Jane's ruling the world from the computer room you can write my biographies.'

'It would be my pleasure.'

'Excuse me!' The door flew open to reveal the music teacher. Clara whipped round in alarm, nearly dropping her saxophone.

'I'm going to have to ask you to clear out now.'

'But miss, we have as much right to-'

'No, I'm sorry, you're not working, these rooms are not just for people to sit around and have a chat in. We need them for people who are serious about music.'

'We are serious about music.' Clara's voice was dangerously close to a snarl for someone addressing a teacher.

'Out.'

* * *

'_Clique!'_ Clara ranted as they strode towards the jeep. 'Her and her precious concert band. The whole thing is a stupid CLIQUE!'

'Clara, don't you think this is getting a little serious?' Alex suggested.

'What do you mean serious?'

'I mean suddenly we're trying to prove to the entire student body and music department that we're good musicians, we kind of have to win now, don't we. Don't you think that's a bit of a tall order?'

'If we fail, Alex, we shall do it with style and accomplishment. These are the qualities of the true performer.'

'Don't you think you might have bigger problems right now?'

'Bigger problems that I need to take my mind off,' Clara returned, climbing into the front seat. The others moved to their respective doors and clambered in too. Alex was last.

He settled into his seat, then stilled. Something was wrong. All the others were motionless, quiet, stranded like driftwood at low tide,

Clara was completely frozen, transfixed as though by a snake. Alex looked to her left and saw why.

Yassen Gregorovich was sitting in the front passenger seat.

**A/N: I'm sorry if this chapter seemed rushed, but I knew you were all saying it was about time I brought Yassen back into it. So Tzoomi, this next chapter is for you. I am also DEEPLY apologetic for the first section of this, which I know for a fact sucked. Just to reiterate, I don't own any of these songs, it's just part of my egotistical fantasy to imagine the band writing really great music.**

**Rider Girl9:** You need to get an account! I'm very touched that you'll follow my story wherever it goes, and I'm sorry that this update in particular was so crap. No more Ash for a while, but Yassen, as you see.

**Alo Amicus:** I'm not sure if I replied to your review or not. If I didn't, tell me and I will.

**Tzoomi:** I love Yassen too! And here is news of him, coming right up!

**Guepard:** Glad someone is happy with the Ash:Yassen ratio.


	15. Chapter 14: SideGloat

**Chapter 14: A Side-Gloat against Music**

**And**

**How Yassen Believed his Eyes**

**Disclaimer:** I'm not going to cast aspersions on your intelligence with one of these.

**A/N: My most sincere apologies for the wait. Due to general laziness and an untimely Star Wars obsession, a writer's block plug was allowed to develop. However, I have not been entirely idle. If any of you are Star Wars fans I would be most flattered if you would go to Essence of Gold's account and read the crackfic Jedi Lullabies that she and I have co-written. Just to reiterate, all first person in this story is Clara unless otherwise stated.**

'I want you to drive in the direction of Joshua's house,' Yassen said evenly, pulling on his seatbelt. Clara was sitting with her head bowed, one hand clenched on the steering wheel so tightly that the shape of her knuckles was clearly visible through the skin.

'Alex?' she asked in a low voice.

'Do it.'

Clara nodded and turned the key in the ignition, then put the jeep into gear. Her hands were shaking and Alex could see the first flickers of panic igniting in her eyes.

'Are you alright?' Yassen asked. 'Shall I drive?'

Clara responded with some very colourful language and squared up in her seat. His calm, courteous voice send shivers down her spine, making her want to physically claw at herself to get it off. There he sat, poised and elegant, waiting to slaughter her and her friends and toy with them first. She turned onto the main road and slammed the gear-stick, accelerating far past the speed limit. The engine snarled as the speedometer touched eighty.

She wished she was in her own car so that she could feel the wind in her hair. The convertible handled better than the unwieldy jeep, anyway; the sharp turns she was doing would have turned out sharper still. The one time she could drive as recklessly as one of Taylor's brothers, and she was in the wrong vehicle. The convertible would have been more fun.

They reached a red light and she stomped on the break, bringing them to a screeching halt. It gave her a kind of savage satisfaction to see Yassen getting flung about like the rest of them.

'Oh, for God's sake,' Josh groaned from the back. 'Slow down, you crazy boffin.'

'Soz, guys.'

'I am so going to kill K Unit,' Alex said, trying to encourage this calm while it lasted.

'You won't get the chance,' Yassen told him.

'And yet I might, I might.' Alex spoke with more conviction than he felt. 'Just follow my lead, OK guys?' he added. Yassen probably already expected him to try something; it was worth warning the others to be alert.

They were passing Josh's house now. Clara slowed slightly, waiting for instructions. Yassen was drawing breath to speak when Alex lunged forwards, clamping a hand over his eyes and groping for his gun.

'Bail out!' he yelled. His fired Yassen's pistol and a bullet slammed into the dashboard, triggering the airbag. Alex wrenched the key out of the ignition as the front of the car filled with a mess of talc and fabric, and sprang out into the road, hitting the remote button to lock the doors.

He saw that all the others had managed to get out. They were scrambling to their feet, wide eyes fixed on him.

'Run!' he yelled, diving off the road. He kept himself at the back of the group, twisting round to watch for pursuit. 'Try to get across the park, get to the main road!' They were past Josh's house now, in the belt of trees that surrounded his garage and cut it off from the park. Alex couldn't see anyone, but suddenly he heard shouts and the sound of feet to their right.

'The garage!' he panted, changing direction, sprinting left. He put on a spurt of speed, and suddenly in front of him everyone was skidding to a halt as the rough walls of Josh's studio loomed up in front of them. Alex flung the door wide to let them pile through, dashed in after them and rammed the heavy bolt home.

'Bullets don't go through concrete,' he panted, on his knees by the door. 'Hopefully bloody Wolf and co.'ll track us here.' He struggled to his feet. 'Turn out the lights and hide. Stay quiet, get ready to run if I say.'

With the fluorescent lighting off, the only light came from the dim autumn sun shining through the high window. They crouched behind the sheeted furniture that filled the corners of the garage, their breathing sounding horribly loud. The white sheets seemed luminous in the twilight. There was nothing to do but try to calm their fear, and stay alert, and wait.

There were rustles and shouts from outside.

'You reckon they could be in there?'

'I shall check.' Alex heard the smooth voice of the Russian, and then a motorised hack saw was slid through the gap in the door. The circular blade began to spin, showering sparks, sinking through the bolt. Alex sat frozen, willing the others to keep their nerve, to stay quiet. He was prepared to beg the Russian to leave them alive if he had to. Would he get the chance, he wondered, or would Yassen gun them all down as soon as he entered?

The door swung open and Yassen stepped slowly into the room. He took about three paces and froze, head bowed, eyes flickering from side to side.

At least there was no-one for him to see. The assassin let his eyes drift to the paintings on the walls, all dreamlike in the semi-darkness; the band sprawling in a park, K Unit and the poppies, the Great Escapes mural. His mouth pulled up in a slight smile as he took it in.

Then suddenly his head snapped round, and the next instant he was sprinting down the garage. From a stack of chairs beside the wall that held only Josh's plain extension to the room, a sound had come. Now Yassen was streaking towards the pile of chairs that stood against the painted wall...

...but, of course, he didn't know it was painted.

Time seemed to halt for a single heart-stopping second as Yassen ran full-tilt into the wall, then reeled backwards, his hands flying to his face.

'_Run_!' Alex roared, flying for the door. He saw dark shapes spring up all around him and dash forwards, Clara was just ahead of him, almost in the doorway. Alex was almost daring to hope that they were going to escape, going to make it, when she suddenly halted with a muffled shriek.

'Nobody moves,' a female voice said calmly. 'I am holding a gun to her head.'

Julia Rothman stepped into the room, dragging Clara by her hair. 'Line up against the wall.' Slowly Alex put his hands behind his head and backed up against the wall, facing the door. The others stood either side of him. Julia Rothman paused to give him a satisfied nod, then turned away.

'What's the damage, Mr Gregorovich?' she enquired.

* * *

Even with the bitch hanging onto me and my friends lined up to die, I couldn't get over the literary perfection of what had happened. Fear may be paralysing, but shock is an anaesthetic. I could register everything with perfect clarity , and think, though I couldn't stop the shaking in my body.

'I think my nose is broken,' Yassen said. From across the room Roberta's voice came, cold and derisive.

'Think of it as your own personal crumple zone, darling.'

He turned towards the rest of us, lowering his hands from his face, and blood dripped down and spattered the front of his white silk shirt.

Good.

*** * ***

Mrs Rothman stood in the centre of the room, next to the drum kit. She reached out and ran a hand slowly over the snare drum, examining every metal rivet.

'Get your hands off it, you bitch,' Josh snarled in a voice which would have turned a heart not already frozen to ice. His scarred arms were bared and his hair fell forward over his dark glowering eyes.

'Well, you have been in the wars, my dear,' Mrs Rothman smiled at him. Her finger hovered on the rim of the drum for a moment, then withdrew. 'Are these yours?'

Josh remained silent.

'I think we need to discuss my rules, young man,' Mrs Rothman said softly. 'When I ask you a question, you answer it, or I can very easily make you regret your non-compliance.' As well as Yassen there were three other Scorpia agents in the room, youngish men with blank faces. Josh glanced over them and then back to Mrs Rothman.

'They were bought for me,' he explained loudly, 'so I guess they're mine, but I share them with Jane.' He draped an arm over Jane's shoulders, leaned back against the wall where he was sitting and stared at Mrs Rothman, exuding insolence.

'What a detailed history,' she murmured, turning away. 'And this keyboard. Yours, Clara?'

'It's all Josh's here,' Clara answered shortly.

'Such a musical group. Not quite your scene, I would have thought, Alex. But then you're not here from choice, are you?'

'I am,' Alex growled at her. 'I chose to come back.'

'And learn guitar?'

'Bass,' Rob interrupted. 'I'm teaching him bass.'

'Silence.' For all her poise and calm, something ugly flashed in Mrs Rothman's eyes whenever she looked at Rob. Their eyes held the same dark glitter. 'Bass or guitar, it will be irrelevant to you shortly.'

Up till now Roberta's face had been blank and controlled, but now she blanched, lunged for a guitar propped against the wall and began to strum frantically. At eh sudden movement Yassen wheeled, his hand flying to his hip. Alex lunged between them, holding out a hand as if he could force the bullets back. He turned his face to Rob, beseeching her with his eyes to be careful.

'Sorry Al,' she whispered.

'And for all that, perhaps it would have been more to the point to coach your friends in unarmed combat?' A falsely sweet smile spread across Mrs Rothman's face. Alex saw Clara's lip curling with disgust as she looked at it. Mrs Rothman stared balefully at Alex. 'It was so pitiful to watch you trying to spread your skills among six, when on your own you could have escaped so easily. All those teenagers, following you like sheep.' She turned to Clara. 'I hear you are very skilful on that keyboard, my dear, but it is not going to help you now.'

'Are you sure? I could play something for you; that will buy me a few minutes.'

'Hmmm, no thank you. And now...' Mrs Rothman's voice was suddenly like ice... 'you see that I am going to kill you, because you were a silly little girl who decided to communicate your artistic ideals to the world and someone has paid me a substantial sum to silence you. The client is a fool; the truth is that you can do no harm with your words or your music, and Scorpia shall reap the benefit.

'I like to think I could have done a little bit of "harm," ' Clara disagreed. Alex wondered how much longer she could last before she lost it. 'Ever heard of the live eight concert?'

'From what I have heard, poverty is not yet history.'

'Was Scorpia established in a day?'

'I am not here to debate ethics with you. Jane, you take an interest in science and academic subjects, do you not? Had you not thrown in your lot with Clara here, I would have advised you to pursue a career in economics. Yassen, you other three, take these outside and kill them.'

_Ah, now we come to it_, Yassen thought.

'Clara,' Jane said. Clara was running a hand through her hair, her eyes darting everywhere. '_Clara!_' Jane called more loudly. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry we've never got on...'

'Listen to me.' Clara knelt in front of Jane, grabbed both her hands and began to speak very fast, the words tumbling out over each other. 'I don't hate you. I admire you very much, I think you are a wonderful musician, thank you, thank you for joining my band...'

'It's going to be OK, Jane,' Josh said steadily, rubbing her back. His was the only calm face; he was still the drummer, holding the whole band together...

'How're we going to cover it up, Mrs Rothman?' one of the men was asking. 'Just leave the bodies here for the police to find?'

'I'm awfully sorry about all this,' Alex apologised. He thought he sounded like someone from an old war film, keeping a stiff upper lip. 'I screwed up...'

'Shut it, Rider-frog, that cow is right, you did your best,' Roberta said. Her hand closed on his arm, clenching it tight. 'I managed to teach you alternative fingerings for every chord we use in our set, I'm just sorry you don't get to put it into practise...'

'We can blow up the south wall, as Ash planned,' Julia Rothman answered the agent. 'Make it seem like an accident with the building.'

'...I'd have found some stupidly difficult fantastic piece for you to play them all in,' Rob continued. Alex laughed hysterically, too loud and high.

'And just think,' Clara said, her voice heavy and hollow like a funeral bell, 'if you'd never got mixed up in my choir, Taylor, you'd be playing kick-around right now.'

'Oh God, Clara. It's a hard choice, but I'd rather have the music.'

'I think,' Clara whispered, 'I think you'd have found it eventually, by yourself. You're too good to just not notice.'

'But I – ' Taylor swallowed, shook his head, and when he spoke his voice was lighter. 'Looks like we're never gonna get to do that concert, guys. Maybe just as well?'

'Concert?' Mrs Rothman wheeled around. 'Taylor, did you say that you and your friends are playing in a concert?'

'Yes.'

A cruel glitter crept into her eyes. 'Well,' she said, 'it would be a shame to leave a hole in the programme, wouldn't it? I would be interested to hear how you perform, particularly, Alex, how you have come on under your...rather unlikely tutor.' Roberta met her eyes in a hollow death stare.

'Mr Gregorovich, what do you say? You have seen them in action before; would it be a performance worth listening to?'

Surely now Yassen would argue, insist that it was more prudent to do the thing now, but he merely gave a slight shrug, as though to say, _you're the brains of this outfit, boss_.

'And of course, afterwards I will expect them dead, _with no mistakes_.' She ran a finger lightly down his cheek. Clara and Rob glanced at each other and grimaced in revulsion. Alex, meanwhile, caught the implicit threat in her words. Was it possible, then, that he could still hope for a little mercy from the Russian?

'Mrs Rothman!' Another of the men was protesting. 'Do you think that's wise, we should finish the job now – '

'Would you presume to know every precaution I take to ensure the success of an operation?' Mrs Rothman hissed at him. 'I assure you, this operation will not fail.'

And with that she moved to the door, pulled it open and just

walked

out.

**A/N: Sorry about the ramblyness of this chapter. Ideally I would have had the compulsory gloat at this point, but for purposes of the plot I can't, so it had to be a little side-gloat instead...**

**I NEED HELP WITH THE SUMMARY, GUYS! IT SUCKS!**

**Wolfmonster: **What do you _think_ Yassen wants? He wants to kill Clara *evil laughter is heard offstage*. Well...perhaps _wants_ is an overstatement, but that is the purpose for which he is there.

**Sahara:** Glad you like it.

**Guepard:** Sorry for the loooooonnngggg wait, I'll try to get my arse in gear, lol. Wait...gah! Talking to Alex, again! I swear to you, he is going to talk to them LOTS! Right, I'll try to work it in next chapter.

**Rider Girl9:** Thanks for your compliments about suspense, I personally loath that chapter, but I'm glad you appreciated it.

**Hilo:** Yay, someone who obsessively reviews every chapter of a fic as I do! I am always interested to hear little bits of people's life-stories, and here is my advice for posting on FF: Invest in a memory stick, save all your stories onto that, then post them off the memory stick whenever you get the chance. You can do this just by going to my computer, removable storage device. Good luck.

Uh, what is an encounter of the third kind? I don't actually know how Julia Rothman and Ash survived, I just needed them. I didn't think that Taylor had a thing for Jane, he's just a really nic guy and kind to everyone, but I did ask for feedback vis character pairings...

I hope you haven't expired from suspense *flatters self*. My OCs are seventeenish, but Roberta is nineteen. I'm glad you find my humour humorous and cliffhangers cliff-like, and hope you continue to enjoy.


	16. Chapter 15: Choice

**Chapter 15: Choice**

**A/N: I am really sorry for the long wait. If there are any Star Wars fans among my readers, please, please go to Essence of Gold's account and read the Star Wars fics I've co-written with her, and review them. Alternatively you might want to go and flame them for diverting my attention away from Band Together. Or you might just not care. OK, shutting up now.**

'Now all we need to do is get the smell out,' Rob said savagely. 'Clara, are you all right? Clara!'

Clara shook her head wordlessly, eyes on the ground and blinking too much. Rob hurried to her side and folded her into her arms, murmuring comfort. Clara let herself be held for a few seconds and then pulled away slightly and reached out to Taylor, whose face was turning white. Josh sat against the wall, staring unseeingly forwards, one arm still tightly around Jane who was now sobbing into his shoulder. Alex backed away to the far corner of the garage, trying instinctively to get away from the aura of panic around them, while he dialled on his mobile.

'Wolf!' he hissed into the phone.'

'Cub? Oh thank God, are you –'

'We're bloody fine, no thanks to you,' Alex snarled. 'I suppose you've managed to locate us by now?'

'Yeah, we'll be with you in a minute.'

'I am _so_ relieved.' Alex ended the call and stood awkwardly, not knowing what he should do. He felt he should rally the others somehow, comfort them, but once again he felt like an outsider. However Rob saw his face and came over.

'Oh my God, Alex, you were so brave!'

'But I didn't even do anything.'

'Yeah, but you're not panicking!'

'Neither are you.'

'Oh, you think?' Roberta's voice grew too rough and she gave a very shaky laugh. 'Believe me, I am like shitting myself...' she took a deep breath, her eyes too bright. Alex saw how thin her mask of control was. Yes, she was panicking.

'That bitch was right about one thing, though,' Rob said. 'Teach me some karate.'

'Oh, you are going to regret that. It's payback for all the guitar lessons now, my girl. You need to adopt a neutral posture, centre of gravity low, like this...' a small part of his mind screamed at the absurdity of starting up a karate lesson in a garage minutes after an assassination attempt, but really, what else was there to do? '...and you see now you can move in almost any way you want to –'

Then the garage door flew open and K Unit came sprinting into the room, fanning out across the doorway. Both Alex and Rob jumped and Clara stuffed her fist into her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

'Quit the theatrics, they're gone,' Alex said flatly. Wolf nodded in acknowledgement and hurried to Clara.

'Are you all right?' he demanded. 'Are any of you hurt?'

'No, we're fine.'

'We've got to take her to Liverpool Street,' Wolf said. He seemed out of his depth, completely shaken. 'Cub, you come with me and Clara. The rest of you, get these others home! On second thoughts, no, take them back to our place and watch out for them until we get back. Hurry!'

He pulled Clara by the arm out of the garage, half running with her to the car and pushing her into the passenger seat. Alex jumped into the back and twisted round, taking in the pale, scared faces of his friends lined up outside. Then Wolf accelerated away, twisting out onto the road and leaving eth others behind.

'Clara?' Alex asked hesitantly. She was leaning back in her seat with her fingers pressed to her temples. 'Are you OK?'

'I'm fine, Alex, really,' she said in a brittle voice. 'I –' he heard her starting to sob.

'It's OK, you'll be fine,' Wolf said awkwardly, eyes fixed resolutely on the road. Alex hesitated, then leaned forward and wrapped his arms round her neck from behind. She gripped his hand and cried quietly.

After she had calmed down Alex began to relate the situation to Wolf in a blank, steady voice.

'I can't understand why she would do that,' Wolf faltered when he was done. 'What makes her so sure? That's...that's worrying, that's really worrying.'

'Beats me too,' Alex muttered. 'See what I told you before? My missions always explode.' Wolf chuckled darkly.

They arrived at MI6 headquarters and took an elevator straight to the fifteenth floor. Clara squashed into a corner of the lift, biting her nails. Alex couldn't find the heart to smile; it seemed patronising. Before they enterred Blunt's office he grabbed her hand. He didn't want any of them sucked into this poisonous office. He had a horrible feeling that if Clara once slid into his life she would never get out.

'Take a seat, please, Miss Foster,' Mrs Jones said, her voice all sweetness. 'You too, Alex.' Wolf stayed standing, hands clasped behind his back. 'Now, Alex, tell us what happened.'

Briefly Alex recounted how Yassen had caught them and what had occurred after that. Mrs Jones' face flickered briefly when she heard about how he'd been waiting in the jeep, but she did not interrupt. Blunt remained utterly unreadable.

'You've got to get her out,' Alex concluded. 'That was too close. Send her to a safe house somewhere and send in a task force to catch Rothman while you can. This is stupid, it's gone far enough.'

Blunt looked through Alex. He might as well have not spoken. He addressed Clara instead.

'How are you feeling, Miss Foster?' he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. 'Are you expereincing any dizziness. Any nausia?'

Clara slowly raised her eyes to look at him.

'A little bit, yeah.'

'It is to be expected. Most likely you are in shock. You have been through a terrible ordeal, terrible. I agree with Agent Rider; these people must be stopped.'

That didn't tally with what Alex had told Clara about Alan Blunt. She frowned, confused.

'To speak quite frankly I am shocked that Gregorovich got so close. It was a shocking miscalculation on the part of our agents –' Blunt paused to frown reprovingly at Wolf – 'and myself, obviously, as it was I who assigned them. I assure you though, that in a situation like this a four-man unit should have been sufficient. Look at the way the agents acted; they let you walk away. Hardly a serious threat to _you_. I am quite embarrassed to have let them come so close to success. And now –' here he gave an incredulous little half laugh – 'they intend to come to your concert.'

Alex frowned. What was Blunt playing at? The man was lying through his teeth, that much was plain. Scorpia, not serious?

'Miss Foster, I believe there is really no need to remove you from the vicinity. If we take certain precausions, there will be no danger for you.'

'Mr Blunt –' Alex cut in.

'If they do go to your concert, they will be walking into a trap.'

'NO!' Alex said loudly. 'NO!'

'Julia Rothman, the woman you met, has been causing considerable trouble for the service for some time. Her organisation has contributed to many disasters, and many, many deaths, Miss Foster, of people sometimes only a little older than yourself.' Blunt glanced almost imperceptably at Alex. 'If we could arrest her at this concert it would deal her organisation a considerable blow. It might even cause their ultimate collapse.' He paused, drew breath and then spoke once more. 'Miss Foster, I would be much obliged if you would continue as planned. It would provide an oppertunity which might never come again. You must play in this concert.'

'You liar!' Alex yelled. 'She'll be killed and you know it.'

'Really, Alex, you do exaggerate. There will be no danger. Miss Foster?'

'Well, some of what you've said doesn't add up for a start,' Clara said slowly. She looked Blunt straight in the eye. 'If I'm so _safe_, how can these people be such a _threat_?'

'What I was trying to convey, Miss Foster, is that they pose no threat _to you_. We can have as many plain-clothed units as necessary concealed in the crowd. They won't come near you. Mrs Rothman is a fool to even consider it.'

Clara stared at her hands, face troubled, thinking...

'Don't listen to him!' Alex told her. 'He's lying, he doesn't care, he's just using you as bait.' He looked back at the two spy masters. Blunt's charade was still unbroken, but Mrs Jones looked uncomfortable. Alex appealed to her now.

'Mrs Jones, this is insane.'

Mrs Jones was silent for a long time. 'Wolf, what do you think of Mr Blunt's proposal?' she asked finally.

'I think it could work,' Wolf said, in the most unconvincing tone Alex had ever heard. His voice was slow and heavy. 'I'm pretty sure we could conduct it with minimum risk.' He looked at Clara, his expression trapped. 'I think...I think the merits of capturing Rothman and Gregorovich outweigh the risks,' he said, speaking directly to her now. It sounded like an appeal.

Clara met his eyes, almost smiling. 'You really want these guys inside, don't you?' she said.

'Clara...' Alex muttered.

'Alex.' She managed a real smile. 'It's OK.' She turned to Blunt. 'I guess I'll do it.'

'Thank you.' Blunt smiled in a way that made Alex want to throw something. 'You will be rendering a great service to the British nation.'

* * *

'I'll go get the car,' Wolf gabbled as soon as they were outside, and practically bolted off down the corridor. Alex understood. He had felt the need to back his employers up in their deception, claiming that there was no danger, and now he couldn't bear to look them in the face. Alex waited until he was out of earshot and then turned to Clara.

'You're insane,' he said. 'You've got to leave. I know these people, they'll stop at nothing.'

'Wolf and Mr Blunt didn't seem to think so.'

'They don't give a damn about you. Listen to me, Clara, Scorpia have been masterminding half the crime on this planet for more than thirty years. If they want to kill you at this concert tomorrow they will, and all the Wolfs in the SAS won't be able to stop them.'

'Look, Alex. I don't think your Mr Blunt was completely honest with me, but he can't just lie flat out to a civilian and send them into danger. There are laws against that, aren't there?' Alex almost wanted to laugh at her innocence. Of course Blunt could do just that. 'Anyway,' Clara went on, 'he was right about one thing.'

'What's that?'

'If there's a chance they can catch this Rothman woman once and for all...then it's the right thing to do. If they play their cards right the place will be crawling with soldiers and she and Yassen will never hurt anyone again. And besides –' she smiled – 'you'll be there, Alex. If half of what you've told me about your missions is true, I've got nothing to worry about.'

'So no pressure,' Alex muttered to himself. Clara might think she was prepared to face a little danger, but Alex was willing to bet that if she really understood what she was letting herself in for she would be running as hard as she could for the next bus out of town, screaming as she went.

* * *

The others were incredulous when they heard what had gone down in Blunt's office. Alex let Wolf spout his reassuring crap and promise them that it was perfectly safe for them to return home for the night, and then he barricaded them in Clara's bedroom and gave them his opinion.

'I would say we are all doomed,' he told them bluntly, 'but all the same I am so giving you self defence lessons. Never know, you might get to punch some bad guy in the face before he pumps you full of hot lead.'

'Seems to me all we do these days is sit in a small circle preparing for death,' Josh remarked, as unfazed as ever. Alex wondered privately whether Josh was entirely sane.

'Want me to find you a bright side?' Clara enquired.

'A _bright side_?' Alex repeated. 'Sure, go ahead, surprise me.'

'It's just a song I wrote a while back which needs a little bit of polishing,' Clara explained, rummaging through a folder on her desk. 'We could dust it off and use it for an encore if we win. I think you'll agree the lyrics are rather appropriate.'

She handed him a sheaf of manuscript paper. Alex read the title; it was called 'You Broke my Heart.' As he read through the lyrics a slow smile spread across his face. He finished the paper and let out a whistle.

'You have some nerve, girl,' he muttered.

'Hey, they want to shoot me anyway?' Clara shrugged. 'What difference will one more poem make?'

**A/N: Sorry if this feels really contrived and implausible, I had to get them to that concert somehow. For the record, Clara is being only slightly Mary-Sueish and self-sacrificing. She doesn't know quite what she's letting herself in for. Also she is trying to save not humanity but the plot. *Shruggs* Yes, that is my best and only excuse. **

**Next time: panic at the disco!**

**Hilo: **THREE WEEKS! I hope to be deprived of FF for that long only when I am on holiday. You are a truly dedicated and noble user.  
I think when Yassen said he didn't kill children he was lying and meant only Alex, but maybe he doesn't murder Alex's friends either? *Clara and co peep out hopefully*

ANgel: Yay, I love the bit where Yassen runs into a wall...serve him right. He cannot withstand the power of Josh's art!

Just me: Glad you love the length. Anything more specific that you love?

Zippy: Being a musician, I too am loving the whole incorporation of the music. So are you saying you want Yassen to give up? Ash already has.

Glad to hear such vehemence from a reader, as in your first review, it makes one feel cared for.

Rider Girl9: it is not for you to know (yet) what has happened to Ash. But hold that thought...oops.

Wolfmonster: Just a teensy bit embarrassing, yes. I wasn't planning on making Mrs Rothman and Roberta related, but I'm glad you picked up on their hating each other. That's going to be a fun relationship to work with.


	17. Chapter 16: Explosive Performance

**Chapter 16: Explosive Performance**

**A/N: The chapter for the sake of which I wrote this fic. The scene I envisage whenever I listen to my i-pod. **

**Play-list: It's Raining Men, by the Weather Girls  
Mercy, by Duffy  
Sugar We're Going Down, by Fall Out Boy  
Monster, by The Automatic  
And of course, You Broke my Heart, by Love Bites. **

**I have decided to kill Hey Kid, Monster was totally the climax. But did anyone notice that in the movie Jack's got it playing in her car at the end? Picture Jack being there and Alex dedicating the number to her and the entire audience leaping to its feet and joining in with the 'HEY!'s. **

**I really hope you will listen to Sugar We're Going Down in particular, because it's so much about Taylor's character, the way he can sing and be hopeful even in the face of death, and his relationships with the others.**

'The lightsshouldn't show the boys,' Clara was telling the lighting crew, 'until the second chorus. Yeah. Thunderclaps there. OK, cool.' She moved aside and another band came forward to state their requirements. Alex was sitting on a chair at the side of the school hall. Strumming softly on his bass to try and keep his nerves down. He knew he must look the epitome of sensitive, tortured artistry, but right now he just didn't care.

Everything in his head was gone to nerves. Nerves about Yassen and Scorpia not cancelling out nerves about the concert, panic for his friends making his head spin, rage at Blunt...it was impossible.

_Just win the competition. It might be the last thing you ever do_.

There was about an hour to go until the concert started. Contestants were beginning to trickle into the hall to warm up, and the air was filled with the clatter of chairs and music stands and incomprehensible music jargon.

'You got a spare two-and-a-half reed?'

'You're flat, push the mouth piece in.'

'Give me a chord of G-minor seventh.'

Alex looked up as Roberta came hurrying over. 'Just got here, frog,' she muttered. 'You feeling all right?'

'Huh.'

Rob shrugged off her guitar case and set it down against the wall. 'I swear it's twice as heavy as usual,' she complained. 'Wasn't by the door where I always leave it when I left home. Gave me quite a turn when I looked and it wasn't there. Left it somewhere else. I must be going insane.'

Alex hadn't understood half of what she was saying, but he welcomed the mindless chatter anyway. Wolf appeared from wherever he'd been lurking.

'Right,' he said, grabbing Clara as soon as she came over. 'As you know, you should be in no danger tonight, but just in case...' Alex listened with half an ear as he launched into a series of useless safety instructions. What could an untrained girl do that would throw Yassen off? He closed his eyes and thought of the lyrics of their encore song. Yes, they _had_ to win. Sometimes the thought of that little one-in-the-eye number was all that kept him sane.

* * *

'Mrs Rothman.'

'Yes, Mr Gregorovich?'

'I think this is a bad idea,' Yassen said without preamble. He looked Mrs Rothman up and down. She was decked out in evening wear like somebody's rich mother come along to loathe the music and cheer for her darling anyway. When would she learn that the Rider boy always escaped when she stopped to gloat. But it was too late now. All they could do was cut their losses, and flee while they had a chance.

'Yassen.' She sounded amused. 'You are so very conscientious. I have assurances that we shall be successful. The matter I asked you to arrange?'

'Done.'

'No-one will suspect so theatrical a method. I am confident it will work as planned. Clara Foster will die, along with the Rider brat and any child foolish enough to befriend him.'

'But what about our own escape?' Yassen said, very slowly and clearly.

'Oh, you needn't worry about that,' she replied, a trace of laughter in her voice. 'I have planned something rather special to aid our exit, and afterwards no-one will dare to assail us again.' Her voice rose a little as she finished.

If Yassen was impressed, he did not show it, just raised one eyebrow very slightly and said:

'That is a weight off my mind, Mrs Rothman. Our three agents are waiting in the car. Shall I instruct them to bring it around?'

'Please do.'

Yassen bowed his head slightly and walked out of the room.

* * *

They were now sitting in a practise room backstage. The roar of conversation echoed from the hall, twisting Alex's stomach into an agonising ball of nerves. The others were with him, each engaged in some small task. Alex gazed at them all, remembering their faces. Clara. Taylor. Josh. Roberta. Jane. Jane hugging her violin to her chest to warm it, Rob applying Mascara with her glossed moth open. Josh, having succumbed to his nerves, doing press-ups in a way that made one's arms ache to watch him. On and on, no sign of flagging. They would all get sweaty enough under the stage lights anyway.

'Jane,' Rob said firmly, 'mascara.'

Jane set down her violin and took the wand numbly.

'Now I don't care about your reputation as psycho-violinist and student librarian of doom. Tonight you are a pop star. Got it?'

'Yeah, I'm...rockin' and rollin', baby.'

'You bet.' Rob pulled down Jane's ponytail and began to arrange her frizzy hair into sleek, biscuit-coloured curls which framed her face beautifully. Alex watched Rob through eyes dulled with panic. She was wearing tight black jeans and a shocking pink, off the shoulder top with 'rock' emblazoned across it in silver, and her pink-streaked hair was twisted up in a bun with bits floating out all over the place. Alex liked the style on her. It made her look more mature and at the same time less hunted, more carefree, than when her hair was loose down her back and shadowing her face. She looked like a modern warrior princess about to fight a duel...Alex dipped his fingers into his pocket and found he didn't have a plectrum. There might be one in his bag in the green room. Wordlessly he stood and left the room, hurrying down the corridor.

Sounds of warming up came from the practise rooms he passed, and a few very sick-looking people were leaning against the walls in the corridor. Alex walked passed them all as fast as he could and turned into the green room. He quickly located his bag underneath a pile of stuff and rummaged through it for a guitar pick. He'd just located one, a triangle of tiger-striped translucent plastic, when he felt a presence behind him.

'Alex.'

'What do you want, Yassen?'

The Russian was standing in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame. He was dressed plainly in a white shirt and black blazer and trousers. No tie though. There was no need, Alex reflected, to _invite_ strangling.

'Did you come to apologise in advance for killing my friend, Yassen?' he demanded. Still no answer. 'Because that's what she is, Yassen, my friend!' His voice rose to a shout. 'You never think about what you're doing, do you. You ruin lives, every single person around every target gets hurt. You stabbed Ash and then he joined Scorpia and came after me. You think you're protecting me for my Dad's sake but you're not, you...you have no idea...' Suddenly Alex found he was close to tears. Briefly an image flashed before his eyes. An image of himself, no spying, no pain, sitting among the others on a summer afternoon. Just being. But it could never be. He'd only met them because of MI6, only befriended Clara because she'd been marked for death. He'd never even known them during a summer. 'I thought you didn't kill children,' he said bitterly. 'Well I'm not the only _special_ teenager out there, Yassen.'

'I just came to look at you,' Yassen said, answering his earlier question.

Alex flung his arms wide, presenting himself to scrutiny. 'I _still look like my father_!' he yelled. 'Happy?'

'Alex?'

Yassen half-turned in the doorway and Alex was able to see past him. Roberta was standing in the corridor, her guitar slung around her neck. She glanced at him and then turned to Yassen.

'If you have any sense of decency left,' she said quietly, 'leave now.'

Yassen met her black eyes, glaring out of that blaze of pink, then his gaze flickered down to the guitar. She had no idea...

'Good luck,' he said, inclining his head towards her.

'Get out.'

Yassen turned and walked off down the corridor, glancing back once as he went. Both children had their backs to him now; Roberta's arm was around Alex's shoulders as she led him back to their practise room. Yassen shook his head. Neither of them could really be counted as a child.

He had run out of time. If Alex performed on stage, because of what Julia Rothman had planned, he would die. He had perhaps an hour left to make up his mind. He should just drop this and continue down the path he'd chosen for himself. The only other option would be to walk willingly to his death. He had always known that his moment of weakness on Air Force One would catch up with him, and now it was almost upon him. He could feel its breath on the back of his neck, waiting...Alex or Scorpia?

* * *

'Alex and I have just had a close encounter of the third kind,' Rob said, steering Alex back into the practise room.

'Huh?'

'Bumped into Yassen. In a suit with another _silk shirt_.'

'Très James Bond,' Clara remarked, but her voice was high and brittle. Her lips and eyes stood out blackly in her chalky-pale face.

'Why are we wasting time bitching about Yassen the Assassin when we could be tuning up?' Josh asked.

'Because we already tuned.'

'Oh yeah. That would be it.'

There was a brisk clicking of high heels in the corridor, and the music teacher entered.

'Ok, I want you all to take your places behind the stage curtain now,' she said briskly. 'You'll hear me announce you, then wait till the curtain opens and star playing.' She seized Alex's arm in a vice-like grip and propelled him towards the door. 'Good luck.'

She led them to the stage door and held it open. The roar of the crowd was muffled by the heavy velvet curtains, and the stage was so dark they had to feel their way.

'Quietly, quietly!' The music teacher hissed. Josh sat behind the drums, Clara stood at the keyboard. Rob stepped up to the mike, preparing to sing. For this number the girls were in front, the boys lurking in shadow until the second chorus. To Alex the stage felt like a quiet, soothing bolthole, all darkness and concealing curtains. What would happen when the curtain went up? Would all his playing knowledge desert him? Probably. Would they be shot the second they were revealed? Also probable. Would Roberta open her mouth and find herself unable to sing? No. That at least would never happen. In the hall the noise dies away as the music teacher began to welcome the crowd.

'We would like to thank you all for coming this evening. It is wonderful for our students to see such a wonderful turnout of friends and family. All the bands performing tonight have worked incredibly hard to deliver what I'm sure will be a really professional performance. First on the programme we have the Non-Conformists, who will be opening our Battle of the Bands with a cover of It's Raining Men by the Weather Girls. Let's hope they don't let us down.'

Clara's eyes flashed at the sly dig, but there was no more time. An eruption of cheering, and a crack of blinding light appeared in the curtains, which split wider and wider as they were opened. Alex couldn't make any of the audience out under the stage lights. Where were Scorpia? Where were the SAS, Alan Blunt and Mrs Jones? The crowds of students continued to shriek and applaud. Alex was wishing they would shut up now; there was a slightly sarcastic edge to the sound. Finally Rob said into the mike:

'Thank you.'

The sound died. A stray whoop, and then silence. This was it. Either they would deliver one passable performance before they all _died_, or Rob would just pass out on the spot. Well, not Rob, but one of them might. Even though he couldn't see anything past the stage lights, Alex thought he could feel Mrs Rothman's cruel eyes boring into him. _This is where it ends, Rider, _he heard her say in his mind_. You will fear. You will fail, here and now, in front of all those you once sought so foolishly to impress. And then you will die_.

And from deep inside him another voice replied.

_Never_.

Vague thundery sounds began to come out of the speakers, and Clara played the introduction on the keyboard. A flurry of fast chords, and Rob started to sing.

Alex honestly didn't remember much about the first number, just that Rob sang out-of-this-world fantastically, in a deep growly alto, and nobody shot at them. It was an out of body experience really. But he came back to himself a little when Jane came forward and took Roberta's place at the microphone, because now they were doing one of their own songs, and Jane was going to sing it.

Taylor began to play the opening riff. Essential rhythm guitar. Jane took a deep breath and began to sing, her voice wobbly with terror, but somehow adding to the effect.

'_I love you, but I gotta stay true..._'

'Woo Jane!' one of her friends yelled in the front row, and there was an outbreak of laughter.

'_My morals got me on my knees,  
I beg you please, stop playing games_!'

It occurred to Clara that the chorus ('_you got me begging you for Mercy_') could be construed by Yassen and Mrs Rothman as a plea for mercy. She then considered that it was odd of her to care. Next second, however, she played a very conspicuous wrong note, and forced her mind back onto the music.

Jane thought she might faint, but her voice was growing stronger. She hit the middle eight, the always-minimal accompaniment peeling away to leave her nothing but the drums and Clara rapping very softly in the background. But what more did one need. The chords might go awry but Josh would never fail to give her a good solid beat.

'_I'm begging you for mercy, yes why won't you release me? I'm begging you for mercy. You got me begging, you got me begging, you got me begging..._'

She ramped up the volume, hitting those high notes with everything in her._ Your voice is like a violin_, she thought. _Just a violin. Touch those notes and let them vibrate_. Then she realised that people in the audience were clapping along. The tone of Josh's drumming seemed to congratulate her.

_Not just a bookworm after all_.

* * *

When they staggered offstage Jet and Jackson were there waiting for them.

'What the hell are you doing backstage?' Taylor demanded.

'Just came to wish you luck, bruv. Your next up, aren't you?'

'Last before the interval,' Taylor confirmed, glancing towards the stage where Rhianna's SOS was being performed by a group of busty sixth-formers. 'Now get out.'

'Oh come on, don't be like that.'

'I will if I want to, but thanks for the good wishes.'

'Yeah, seriously...just don't screw up, OK?'

'Thanks,' Taylor muttered dubiously as the sloped off.

'You'll be _fine_,' Clara reassured him. 'Just fine.'

* * *

Hearing the admittedly very good rendition of SOS was making me panicky. For goodness' sake, I was staring death in the face! I wanted to win, that was all there was to it. Couldn't the last thing I did be something memorable? Win my school battle of the bands, even though I would never make it to Top of the Pops? That was a stupid, faked-up show anyway. But a little of my competitive spirit faded as we took to the stage again, to be replaced by anxiety. This time it was for Taylor. I remembered the hard days when the rumours of him singing had first started. Being stuck with no-one but each other, and slowly ceasing to mind. He stood on the edge of the stage now, shoulders hunched over to tone down the tall frame he still wasn't used to, and tilted the microphone up to his mouth. My stomach flipped with nerves. I wanted to reach out, protect him from the waiting, sceptical crowd. Suddenly he turned and smiled at me, his face sweet and carefree. I almost heard his voice in my head.

'_Chill out, Clarey. Do you really think I'm going to mess up?'_

This number was in safe hands.

'_Is this more than you bargained for?..._' I'd never heard a soloist so relaxed. The notes seemed to float out of his mouth with no effort on his part, every one sweet and clear and true. He was born to this. For a moment all my terror melted away, leaving only the music. I could have listened to him forever.

Taylor sucked in a deep breath, ramping up the volume for the chorus.

'We're going down, down in an earlier round,  
and sugar, we're going down swinging!  
I'll be your number one with a bullet,  
A loaded God-complex, cock it and pull it.'

The perfect song for a last night on earth.

* * *

Yassen was suitably impressed. The boy was not just a singer but a born performer, shimmying slowly down into a crouch with one thumb pointing down as he sang the chorus. He began the second verse, gazing dreamily into the distance, playing it up. No-one was clapping along, but Yassen could tell they were drinking in the music, so upbeat on the surface but full of confusing lyrics. Alex and Josh (the creator of that infernal mural) were singing backing vocals, and Yassen would have expected himself to be more interested in the former, but Taylor's performance was very engaging.

Drums and backing faded back to just Roberta, whacking out a chord per bar, and Taylor (it looked like improvisation to Yassen) held the mike away to the side, at arm's length, and sang unamplified:

'We're going down, down in an earlier round...'

His voice rocketed to the farthest corners of the hall, loud and clear. He took the microphone back to sing an ornamented version of the chorus with Alex, who maybe wasn't up to that kind of projection, then struck a pose with two fingers pistol-like in the air and the microphone held away:

'A loaded God-complex, cock it and pull it!'

The audience erupted into applause at the feat as the band played the final chorus. Taylor had got them completely on-side with his completely uninhibited performance, and finished the song in a tumult of clapping. Yassen caught sight of the shadowy forms of Clara and Alex coming forward to embrace him as the curtains closed and the lights flickered on for the interval. The mind-blowing noise of hundreds of teenagers and their parents beginning to talk blossomed over the hall.

He and the other Scorpia agents made their way to a corner of the hall where there was room to breathe and waited until Julia Rothman joined them. Yassen was thinking fast. He only had until the band's penultimate song, Monster, if he wanted to save Alex. And that he must do. Had he been certain for so long, put himself to so much trouble, just to fail the boy now? But it was more than that. Somehow the mission no longer felt right. To Yassen, who had lived out most of his life with no sense of right and wrong, this was unsettling, but it was so. He turned to Mrs Rothman, and then over her shoulder caught sight of the young SAS soldier who had been in charge of Clara's protection. He was just within hearing distance. Maybe there was a chance to make this right for both him and Alex after all.

'I set the bomb fuse in the guitar for G-minor seventh,' he said, loudly and clearly. 'Do you suppose that will be all right?'

* * *

Alex and the others were collapsed in their practise room, swigging coke to keep their energy up, when Wolf came charging into the room.

'There's a bomb in the guitar!' he yelled. That's how they're doing it! It's set to go off when...when...'

'When what?' Roberta demanded. 'Which guitar?'

'I don't know, Gregorovich didn't say.'

'Well it hasn't gone off yet, what sets it off, how's the fuse activated?'

'I don't know, he had some kind of code...'

'What code?'

'Some letter-number combination, I forget exactly what –'

'You didn't _remember_ it?' Roberta said thunderously, leaping to her feet.

'I didn't think it would mean anything to you!'

'For God's sake! It was the name of a chord, notes have letter names, I thought any idiot would know that!' Roberta raged, seizing Alex's bass. 'Obviously he said the name of the chord which sets off the bomb! It can't be one we've used yet, either that or they're controlling it remotely.' She began to strum the instrument softly, leaning her head down to the soundbox.

'What are you doing?' Wolf asked.

'Well obviously a guitar that's got a dirty great bomb in it is going to sound different, isn't it? The strings that are rigged to the fuse will sound a bit off, and there should be some way of playing that will short-circuit the whole thing...I've just got to find out _which_ guitar it's actually in...'

At that moment a shout came from outside.

'Interval's over!'

'SHIT!' Rob screeched. 'Well, we can't go on.'

'If they find out we know what they're planning it'll wind up in a gun-battle backstage,' Wolf argued.

'Not to mention the amount of explaining we'll have to do to the school if we suddenly refuse to perform,' Alex added.

'Right.' Rob stood perfectly still for a moment, then thrust Alex's bass at him and grabbed her own guitar. 'We'll have to play then. Use alternate fingerings for everything Alex, Josh, Taylor, Clara stand on the opposite side of the stage to us and keep passing the guitars between us as we play. Make it look like part of the act. I'll take a listen to each one as it comes to me and try to figure out which one is hot.'

'Rob –'

'Move it!'

'Rob, I don't think I can do that,' Alex said wildly.

'Yes you can, I've taught you every chord in the book. Just sing as well as you can and for the love of God, don't accidentally play anything we rehearsed. I don't care how badly you screw up, just don't cause any explosions.'

'Thanks a lot.'

'Come on, guys, let's roll!' Clara shouted from the doorway.

The walk onto the stage felt like something out of a waking dream. Applause clattered in the air like stones over a precipice. The stage lights cut the world into monochrome sections of splintered motion. Alex felt his heart speeding up in his chest, his body starting to shake, his knees weakening as he faced the audience. Stage-fright.

'Just remember, zone out, rhythm,' he heard Josh say to Jane behind him. Of course. Jane was drumming for this one. There was a ripple of sound in the crowd as she sat down behind the drum kit, neatly arranging her legs. Rob stood by his side, her head bent, pink and black hair falling like a waterfall over her face, down to where her white hands lay curled on the strings of her guitar. Yassen was watching her too. If anyone could work their way out of the trap he had set, it would be this strong, brittle girl with her remarkable musical prowess.

'Really, Mr Gregorovich, your musical knowledge astounds me at times,' Mrs Rothman remarked. So maybe she was onto his dropping the hint to the SAS soldier. Maybe she also knew about his violin. It wasn't a subject Yassen was prepared to discuss.

Roberta began to play a thin, plaintive intro, and then the drums came pounding in. The focussed fierceness of a violinist and the broad, heavy aggression of the drummer were interchangeable, it seemed. He felt a certain affinity with Jane, because they shared an instrument, and he watched her playing style carefully. You could definitely see the violinist in her as she played the drums with a sharp precision that was quite different from the way Josh belaboured his kit.

Up on the stage Alex focussed his eyes in on the wire mesh covering the head of the microphone, inches from his nose. He was having to consciously think of every chord he played, using the alternative, and more complicated, fingerings for each one. Oh crap, that was his entry! He began to sing on what little air he could draw in, blessing whatever God was up there for the microphone amplifying his words. Rob's twisted lyrics perfectly encompassed his feelings. As he began the first chorus a group of kids at the front started to clap along. Slowly the sound spread. Roberta played a web of eerie chords to lead them into the next verse, then slung her guitar to Josh. Alex half-threw his bass at her and wound up with Taylor's guitar in his hands.

_He didn't know how to play rhythm guitar_!

Hastily he improvised, flicking a switch to bring on some kind of special effect so that it didn't matter what chords he played. Behind him Taylor was doing the best he could with Roberta's magnificent electric guitar. Wow, the guy really was a musical genius. Alex plucked a few strings randomly and then headbanged into the second verse, mainly to annoy Yassen who's scene, he guessed, this was not. He felt like a right idiot, standing there tossing guitars randomly around, but the audience were loving it. Roberta was putting in a few moves behind him to make it look like a worked-out routine. Jane tapped out a soft, frantic rhythm on the cymbals.

Another chorus, another swap. Alex found himself holding Roberta's guitar. He held it as though it were made of glass, terrified of damaging it. _Get your priorities straight, for goodness' sake_, he scolded himself. There was something about this instrument. It was beautiful, it felt wonderful to play. Alex hefted it up in his arms. It was_ heavy_. _Think chord patterns. One, two, three, four_. He could do this. His wrist protested as he twisted it into ever more awkward positions, and playing felt like running over breaking ice, about to go pear-shaped any second, but he was holding up. Somehow they were still alive, still playing, still performing, and no-one's nerve had broke. Roberta's black brows were twisted in a scowl as she played, listening, listening...he shoved her guitar back at her on the beat and sang for all he was worth:

'_What's that coming over the hill, is it a Monster? Is it a Monster?_'

It was brilliant, a rock-out. _Roberta wrote this, _he thought dazedly,_ she wrote this music, and Clara got us together to play it, and we're doing it, we're doing it...as long as we don't all get blown up next second – _

'Alex!'

He twisted on stage, snatching the mike with him at the last second, leaning down into it, his feet finding a rhythm on the dusty stage. Roberta was jumping up and down, screaming his name, though she was almost inaudible above the music.

'I got it I got it!,' she shrieked. 'G-minor-seventh!' And before he could stop her she rocked into her guitar solo, her long fingers splayed half way across the fret board as she played. She vibrated her hands across the strings, drawing a whirring shriek from her instrument, and then her face twisted in savage triumph as she struck down with her thumb. A shower of white sparks spurted out of the guitar, smattering the floor harmlessly and lighting up her face. The bomb was gone. Alex laughed out loud, completely crazy, and screamed into the last chorus, the rest of his band shouting the harmonies with him. Rob whacked out the last chord and dropped to one knee, bent and panting, raising her guitar triumphantly into the air. The crowd leapt to its feet, screaming and applauding. Alex pulled Roberta upright and hugged her, his chin resting on her bare shoulder. Bits of their guitars stabbed into him. It was too hot to breath. Slowly he turned, on arm still across Rob's shoulders, and looked out into the hall. Clara stepped up beside him as the lights dimmed a little, allowing him to see over the audience.

'You did it, Alex,' Clara whispered.

What he saw was Mrs Rothman, pointing a pistol at his face.

**A/N: Sorry that this chappie is not entirely scientifically accurate. Call it artistic license, if you will.**

**Woo, I now have 101 reviews! I love all you guys! Now get accounts and get yourselves logged in so I can return the favour!!!**

**Rider Girl9:** You like my story _except_ for the cliffies? Oh come on, it's not very sporting not to let the author have his/her bit of fun. A few cliffhangers add spice, and you can't really have an adventure story without one. I am thrilled as a thrilled thing that you are *dying* to know what happens next. The next chapter is already underway.

**Just Me:** _Thanks for your lovely review; I love it when people tell me they like my characters, as they are very close to my heart. They are like pebbles, worn in the sea for years until perfectly rounded and smooth...they started out as real people, and were then worn in my head for years! I could think of more analogies (matured wine springs to mind) but they would probably disturb you._


	18. Chapter 17: Panic at the Disco

**Chapter 17: Panic at the Disco**

**A/N: I am very happy as I got LOTS of reviews last time (did anyone notice my shiny new summary? Looks like it's doing the job!) so I am rewarding you with this fast update. Sorry the chapter looks long, there are some *long* review replies at the end. **

**Also there are two flies dive-bombing my head periodically.**

The first Yassen knew of events was when Mrs Rothman pulled the gun from his belt and aimed it. So she'd never expected him to shoot Alex. The boy looked out with clear, unfazed eyes at the levelled weapon, his arm still around that extraordinary friend of his.

Nobody in the front rows had even noticed the woman standing up with a loaded gun, but Yassen could feel the panic beginning to emanate from the people around and behind them before they had even begun to physically react.

'And now, Alex Rider, Clara Foster...and the rest of you...prepare to die,' Mrs Rothman said in a quiet, level voice which nonetheless carried over the applauding crowd.

'Fuck you, Julia Rothman!' Roberta screamed wildly, standing directly centre stage. 'Fuck you! We won and you know it! We beat you at your own stupid fucking twisted game, and just because you can pull out a bigger and better gun and say: "I'm not playing, I beat you all," doesn't mean we've _lost_. Alex, my man, YOU CAN FUCKING WELL PLAY GUITAR!'

Yassen snapped into combat stance. SAS men with guns were appearing all around the perimeter, fencing them in. _I told her_, he thought. _I told her_. His sole thought now was how he could save Alex. If he jumped Mrs Rothman now one of the other agents would put a hole in his spine and gun down the children before he could turn around. Could he shoot them all fast enough? Mrs Rothman first, and the others before they could react? At this inconvenient juncture reluctance kicked in, something in him rebelled against the idea of committing four cold-blooded murders for the sake of an act which would definitely be classed as 'good.' Yassen wished he could be a creature with no feeling, wished he were stronger, faster, so that he could take control of this situation and still get out alive, but he wasn't. He was Yassen. He was human. And his mind was beginning to break.

Someone screamed. Someone else began to thrash through the crowd, trying to escape, but Clara Foster said:

'Wait.'

Her voice was soft and clear.

'You said you wanted to hear our set,' she called across the hall. The SAS soldiers and Yassen's own agents were silent, watching her. 'You said it would be a shame to leave a hole in the programme. We had prepared – in the event of our winning – an encore.'

Someone somewhere gave a thin, valiant cheer. Most people were standing sideways now, their attention divided between the guns and the stage. An odd calm prevailed. Clara glanced around and, seeing no impediment, continued. 'This number is called: "You Broke my Heart. We would like to dedicate it to anyone who has ever tried to send us up, tear us down or shoot us.' She looked Yassen straight in the eye. 'You know who you are.'

She moved forward and gripped the mike, her face very pale, eyes far away and glazed. Even in their terrified state, the audience's attention was captured by this. The school boffin, about to sing.

Josh tapped the rim of his snare drum four times.

'_Yeah right, yeah right, yeah right, yeah right, yeah right!_' Clara roared into the microphone. As Roberta began to play a growling into – she was indefatigable, that girl – Clara flung off her dark jacket to reveal a tightly enveloping blaze of gold sequins underneath. Someone in the lighting box thought to brighten the spotlights, sending dazzling flashes sparkling off her.

'_I used to sit by you at school, I used to think you were so cool,'_ Clara sang, pulling the microphone off its stand to hold it in her hand. Musically it was the simplest song they'd played that night, but the performance was blowing the audience away.

'All my friends were jealous, they all fancied you. You never thought it would happen to you...'

Roberta and Jane stood either side of Clara, ready to harmonise.

'_Well you broke my heart._' Each of them flung a fist forward. '_So I broke your nose! And I'm not sorry that I got blood on your cloths! Well you broke my heart, so I dyed your eyebrows blue, and I'm not sorry that your mates all laugh at you...YEAH THEY DO!'_

It had never been harder to remain impassive, but he did it. That girl...make that _those children_. Their nerve was astounding. Was it Alex rubbing off on them, or them rubbing off on Alex? Yassen sat frozen to his chair as they delivered a completely uninhibited performance straight to him, every lyric shouted with the confidence that comes when one is facing death. _This is what you get,_ Yassen thought, more amused than anything else, _this is what you get when you mess with a group of adolescent artists...what do you know about that breed? That they laugh in the face of death, plainly. That mural should have been a warning to you to escape while you had the chance. _Clara finished the song up with a resounding: 'yeah right!' knocking the microphone stand clear across the stage in her role as enraged girlfriend. The audience leapt to their feet as one. Everybody was screaming, everyone applauding. Then they turned towards Mrs Rothman. The ones who had seats near the front began to clamber onto the stage, forming a protective wall in front of the band. It looked like Alex wasn't going to need worrying about after all. Instead, he was looking at being lynched by an angry mob. That wasn't the end he'd envisaged.

'Oh, the people who tried to send us up and tear us down,' said Clara, who seemed to never shut up, 'I take it back. The people who tried to shoot us, I reiterate it.'

'Turn your faces to the wall children!' the SAS soldier cried, and fired straight at Julia Rothman. But as he pulled the trigger something shot in front of Yassen, so close that the wind of its passage stirred his hair, flinging her to the ground. The bullet went wide. Before Yassen could see who this saviour was the figure had sprung out of his line of sight. He whipped around in time to see an SAS soldier crumple to the floor, and a humanoid figure streaking past him..._we will succeed_, Julia Rothman had promised him. For the first time in years, Yassen felt the stirrings of true fear. What _was_ this?

In front of him one of the Scorpia agents turned his gun on the crowd. There were screams and shoves. Most people were now trapped between Scorpia and the SAS and the stage, numerous guns blocking their path to the exits. Next second Alex took a flying leap off the stage and landed in front of the Scorpia agents, kicking him squarely in the teeth. _Why_ did that boy always have to go diving _in_to trouble? Clara and Jane hauled the stage door open and began to scream:

'Through this way! Back stage!'

People began to clamber onto the stage and push through the door, and the crush in the hall thinned. Yassen's heart stopped for a moment as Alex was knocked sprawling by the Scorpia man he was taking on. The boy rolled, dodging the man's next kick. There was a resounding crash as Josh blocked a bullet with a cymbal held to his face, half-crouching, his head twisted away. Then he stood, a clear-cut target on the edge of the stage – Yassen could have dropped him without pausing to aim – and weighed the cymbal in his hand like a discus before hurling it at the head of the man attacking Alex. The agent fell, blood oozing out of the side of his scalp, and didn't get up again.

* * *

Everything was chaos. People shooting, others screaming, noise everywhere. Briefly I damned Alan Blunt to the deepest circle of hell, with his 'no danger', but I couldn't shake the feeling of guilt, because I'd never factored in the danger performing might pose to the audience. The best I could do to atone was to continue holding the door open and guiding people through. At that moment there was another gunshot, and a girl in the thick of the crowd went down, clutching her arm.

'Clara!' Jane screamed, standing on the other side of the door. I noticed there was blood in her hair. How had that got there? I nodded quickly and jumped off the stage, running for the shot girl. She stared at me as though I was some kind of demon, with wild, half-seeing eyes. As I bent to try and lift her, trampling feet battered us. She gave a gasp as someone ran straight across her arm. The best I could do was to pull her to the side of the hall, away from the crowd.

'Don't go...' she sobbed, her nails rending my hand. 'Help...'

'Clara!' Josh appeared in front of me, hulking as a mountain. Swift and unhurried he lifted the girl and balanced her over his shoulder. 'Try and hold her arm closed,' he told me. 'It's time we went.' As I wrapped my hair tie tightly around the girl's arm, above the wound, we tried to avoid thoughts of all the times I'd done the same for him. Muscles bunched in his scarred arms as he adjusted the girl and began to jog for the exit. I took some of the weight while he clambered onto the stage. The door was a rectangle of light in my darkened vision.

A man appeared in front of me. I couldn't make out his face against the light, but I could see every strand and curl of his tousled hair. There was a shattering impact on my breastbone and I found myself flung backwards, helplessly, off the stage. I hit the floor and slid six feet into the wall.

It was like my body literally froze. I couldn't move, speak, breath. The man who had hit me leapt off the stage, high into the air, almost in slow motion, and disappeared from my line of sight. Stars exploded across my eyes. When they cleared there was a man in front of me, with a levelled gun.

* * *

Alex was soaked in sweat, running for the door, when he caught sight of Clara over his shoulder. God dammit, they were so close to escape and she of all people was still inside. She sprawled against the wall, eyes like tunnels, a Scorpia agent aiming a gun at her head. With a cry Alex flung himself on the man, knocking his gun away. He sprinted to Clara's side and grabbed her arms.

'Get up!' he snarled. She was stiff as a corpse. 'Get up!'

She sucked in a gasping breath and stood, staggering against him. Alex seized her round the shoulders, supporting her, and stared around the room. The SAS formed a line in front of him, guns raised and trained in the same direction. In front of the main doors Alex saw Yassen, two Scorpia agents and Julia Rothman. The agents had their hands up. Alex clutched Clara, trying to make her hide her face in his chest so that she wouldn't have to witness the shooting that was about to take place, but she fought him, half-sobbing, staring transfixed at the standoff. Alex realised that Yassen was about to be shot. How did that make him feel? The last link to his father, gone?

Why weren't MI6 shooting.

Then Yassen dragged Taylor into the light.

The world seemed to stop. There was a roaring in Alex's ears. Yassen cocked his gun against Taylor's head, staring blankly ahead.

'Lower your weapons,' Julia Rothman ordered silkily.

Alex had loosened his hold on Clara. They stood transfixed, arms wrapped around each other. Now Clara spoke in a low, thick voice, addressing Yassen directly:

'Look, I'm begging you. Don't shoot him.'

Taylor's eyes were glazed, his chest rising and falling rapidly with fear. Yassen jerked his head at the others, who moved behind him and began to back towards the exit. Yassen followed them, dragging Taylor with him, his eyes locked on the SAS troops. Frozen in the doorway, his fellows all outside and retreating, he paused. His hand tightened on the gun until his knuckles were clearly outlined through the taught white skin. Then he twisted his arm and hurled Taylor with all his strength into the line of soldiers, sent several shots towards them, leaving them in disorder, and fled. Alex bolted through the ducking soldiers and leaned out of the doorway. Yassen was sprinting across the car park, moving as easily as though strolling but eating up the distance in a matter of seconds. At the end of the drive a black car was already moving. Yassen leapt into the back and an instant later it was lost to his sight.

Suddenly exhausted, he turned and headed slowly back into the hall. SAS soldiers were running for their jeeps, but Alex didn't give much for their chances. Taylor was kneeling on the floor, shaken but very much alive, while Clara sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder. A medic touched his arm and he winced. Alex glared at the scene, rage spurting inside him, leaving him breathless.

Somehow he would make Blunt regret what he had done tonight.

*****End of Part One*****

**A/N: Yeah, so I was going to do a sequel, but I thought I would get no new readers if they found they have to read this one first, so I decided to just make it part two. Anyway, suffice it to say that the story goes on for a looooonnnnggggg time, there is less music and more adventure, Yassen talks to Alex and elements of sci-fi are introduced.**

**Rider Girl9: Well, I have updated quickly, and this time there is a breathing space. I'm glad you thought it was genius; that scene had the potential to go very, very wrong.  
Wait...admit? You've never had trouble admitting my chapters are good before now? Sorry, I just had to mention that. You are still my longest-standing reviewer, I think. *Virtual high-five*.**

**Alo Amicus: You are a star reviewer, always making such hyper-inducing comments. I think Roberta may be my favourite too, she certainly got a good innings last chapter, I just love the whole jealousy thing Mrs Rothman has going for her. It makes my heart happy!  
OK, I'm just going to come clean to you and say that I have no idea how she de-fused the bomb either. In fact I don't think it's even physically possible. But yeah, I guess the detonator is somehow rigged to the strings so that playing the right chord (g-minor seventh) will set off the bomb, but as they were using different fingerings for every chord they didn't set the bomb off, and then Roberta found a chord which would short-circuit the bomb or set off just the detonator or something. That would probably melt the guitar actually, and then she wouldn't be happy and would be unable to do her guitar solo, but hey. This is not just fiction, this is FAN fiction (AKA the Implausibility Boat).**

**So I didn't make up Monster, but here are the lyrics:**

Brain fried tonight through misuse  
Through misuse, through misuse  
You can't avoid static abuse  
Abuse, abuse

Without these pills you're let loose  
You're let loose, you're let loose  
Take off, get out, no excuse  
No excuse, no excuse

What's that coming over the hill  
Is it a monster? Is it a monster?  
What's that coming over the hill  
Is it a monster? Is it a monster?  
What's that coming over the hill  
Is it a monster? Is it a monster?  
What's that coming over the hill?

Confused, mind bruised, it seeps out  
It seeps out, it seeps out  
Face down, home town looks so grey  
Looks so grey, looks so grey

Convexed you bend, twist and shout  
Twist and shout, twist and shout  
Stand up brush off get moving  
Get moving, get moving

What's that coming over the hill  
Is it a monster? Is it a monster?  
(x4)

Face down, home town, face down, home town  
Face down, home town, it looks so grey  
(x4)

What's that coming over the hill  
Is it a monster? Is it a monster?  
(x4)  
**It is a very cool song...wow, it really IS about drug abuse, I haven't read it before...so I think it gives a bit of insight into Roberta's crazy brain, though she was not actually on drugs when she wrote it, but running a very high temperature. Plus it has awesome guitar and is a very good song to dismantle a bomb to. Go listen to it and tell me what you think! (Picture Alex singing and Taylor doing the high-pitched shrieking which – dammit – I forgot to describe.)**


	19. Part 2, Chapter 18: Superhuman

**Part Two**

**Chapter 18: Superhuman**

**Disclaimer: **I think I've misled some people into thinking that the songs in the previous two chapters were my own work. They aren't. And I don't own Alex and co either. And the sci-fi elements about to be incorporated are from the Uglies series by Scott Westerfeld.

**A/N: There will now be a rather jarring transition from realism to sci-fi. Some of you may not like it at first (or ever) and I think that is perfectly fair. I promise you that that was my plot from the start, and I have tried to plant some hints along the way, but the problem is that this fic is a medley, if you will, of all my imaginings over the past few years. Alex and the band remain constant, other books become crazes and cast their influence, then vanish. I am only just discovering (as you will see in the concert chapters) that daydream and narrative are widely different mediums and one cannot always transcribe from one to the other. So in short, sorry for this story being such a stylistic shambles. **

He was in trouble. As Yassen walked down the hall towards the study where he had first been given this ridiculous assignment, he reflected that he would quite probably be shot upon entering. That would be what he would do, if he were Julia Rothman. But more likely she would want to play with him first. That was what this whole mission had been: a chance for her to play with Ash, then with him when Alex Rider had appeared on the case, and then with Clara and her friends. Sadism got you nowhere, but that wasn't going to save Yassen.

He knocked on the door and went in without waiting for permission. Julia Rothman was sitting behind the glass-topped table, a silver pen in her hand and a glass of champagne at her elbow. Her hair and eyebrows had been newly styled, not a strand breaking ranks. Dark glossy curls framed her perfectly powdered face; her mouth was a gleaming Cupid's bow. Yassen could almost have laughed. Roberta the guitarist had been wearing enough makeup, but under it her beauty was real. Mrs Rothman might as well have been at one of her Venetian balls, hidden behind a plumed mask.

'Where is Doctor Three?' he asked brusquely, sitting down.

'That is none of your concern,' she said, softly, sweetly. 'Mr Gregorovich, I am not pleased. The concert was a disaster. We barely escaped.'

'Due to my timely action,' Yassen said flatly. 'You know my views on the method we attempted. I failed to shoot the target, because I was instructed by you to wait for the..._guitar bomb_...to do its work. And then you took my gun.'

And she had taken the gun because she had known he was not going to shoot Alex, and had determined to do it herself. It no longer mattered whose fault the botched assassination was. He had failed to kill twice, once when he swore to himself to protect Alex, and again when he had spared Taylor's life for no better reason than that he was Alex's friend, and could sing, and because Clara Foster had asked him to. What would Mrs Rothman do now? If she moved to draw a gun, he fancied he could leap across the table and strike her dead before she fired. But maybe there was something else? A hidden button? Concealed gunmen?

Mrs Rothman was gazing sorrowfully at him. It was a false, studied expression and Yassen surprised himself with a sudden urge to knock it off her face.

'You may go, Mr Gregorovich,' she said. 'I must put a call through to the executive board. They will want to have an explanation for this.' She was playing the stricken, frightened woman now, her eyes cast down as she reached for the phone. Yassen rose and in a blasé gesture turned his back. The phone had not been picked up. He felt her eyes on his back, hard as nails, as he made his way out of the room.

Mrs Rothman waited with one hand hovering over the phone until the door had swung shut. Then she removed it slowly and turned her head to the left. The shadows between tow bookcases were moving, resolving themselves into a dark, humanoid shape, which stepped forward into the light. Ash gave a slight twitch of his head to get his hair out of his eyes, which were flickering towards the door. He must have remained inhumanly still to stay concealed practically under Yassen's nose. But, Mrs Rothman reflected with satisfaction, he was barely human any more.

'Ash,' she said softly, 'I believe that Mr Gregorovich has outstayed his usefulness. It seems you will have your way after all.'

Ash glided across the room and out of the door, his feet making no sound on the polished floorboards of the hall. Once he was out of her line of sight it was as though there was nobody there at all, he moved so quietly. Mrs Rothman, felt quiet triumph. She had created the ultimate weapon. Never again would anybody be able to challenge Scorpia, not MI6, not the SAS or the CIA, and certainly not that brat Alex Rider.

* * *

Yassen froze. The slightest scrape of foot against floor had alerted him to the presence behind him, but even as he whirled, he was confused. The corridor was a long one: how could anyone have got this close without having been heard before? Then he saw the face of his pursuer, and his insides turned to ice wateri.

It was Ash, and yet not Ash. His skin was paler than usual, face clean-shaven, and his dark eyes had a metallic glint and slanted like a wolf's. But the most striking differences were in his body. He had an alert, predatory stance, and Yassen fancied that one twitch of his muscles would be enough to send him flying forward. He seemed somehow taller, straighter, and suddenly Yassen realised what else had changed. The man he had known had been slightly hunched, doubled over by the constant pain in his belly. That pain had gone now, it was obvious. Ash was a new man.

What the hell had they done to him?

'Gregorovich,' Ash said. The sound of a human voice issuing from the predatory figure gave Yassen gooseflesh, but out of habit he kept his face impassive.

'Ash,' he replied evenly.

'I doubt you were expecting me, were you? You thought I'd be dead.' Yassen did not reply, but Ash seemed perfectly content to continue this conversation one-sidedly. Underneath this new, inexplicable exterior he was still the same man, hungry for vengeance at the cost of all else, and this steadied Yassen a little, even as it brought the knowledge of what Ash was here for now. To kill him.

'Well, in truth I very nearly was. But there'll always be use for human lives, Gregorovich. Rothman didn't care whether I lived or died, so she made me the subject of a little experiment.' Ash held out a hand, flexing the fingers subtly. In the half-light they looked like claws. 'The plastic surgery is just the tip of the iceberg. For dramatic effect, really. They've given me faster reactions. A nearly unbreakable set of bones. Speed and strength to let me outclass the best soldier in the world. Heightened senses. I can smell your fear, Gregorovich. I can see past that clumsy facade of coolness you're keeping up.'

Yassen let him carry on talking, planning his next move. The man might have all these crazy new skills which Yassen's mind couldn't take in yet, but he was still an arrogant fool like all the rest of them...

'But the real beauty,' Ash continued, 'is in the mind. The rest is really just enhanced surgery, but this is something else. They make you...icy, I like to call it. You have the ability to be objective, think analytically, solve...without all those pesky emotions getting in the way.' Ash grinned broadly, revealing slight but definite fangs. Yassen felt the bolting instinct rising almost irrepressibly inside him, but fought it down; Ash would be on him like a cat on a mouse.

'Of course,' Ash hissed, 'I owe you for the research. You were what might be called the prototype...'

'What?' The word slipped out before he could stop it. Ash smiled and leaned forward.

'Ever felt icy, Gregorovich?'

Out of nowhere his foot lashed up, catching Yassen full in the chest and knocking him backwards. He hit a door hard, his head whiplashing backwards into the wood. His flailing hand caught and turned the handle and the door flew open. He skidded into the room beyond, slamming the door to in Ash's face.

Panting for breath he scrambled up, ramming the bolt on the door home, and looked around the room. There were several exits, but which one should he take? As he pondered a fist slammed into the door, buckling the wood inwards. No time. Yassen sprang for the nearest door like a startled deer and sprinted through, a plan already forming in his mind. He doubted that Ash would be able to run as fast as a car, but to get outside under his own steam, find his car, start it and get up speed would take too long. He was heading for the armoury of the building, where he knew prototypes of a new stealth vehicle were being stored. Prototypes he was adept at handling, because he had helped to test them himself. Hoverboards.

He burst into a long, low room and stopped, trying to catch his breath. The hoverboards, three of them, were upright against the wall. He pulled one out of its rack and balanced it on the windowsill. It was like an elongated skate-board with lifter fans, like the rotor blades on a helicopter, instead of wheels. Next to the hover board rack were sets of crash bracelets. These went round his wrists and were magnetically attracted to the hoverboard. If he fell, they would break his fall. He planted a foot on the grippy rubber surface of the board, and at once its lifter fans began to turn. Yassen tensed, preparing to throw himself and the board out of the window...

There was an ear-splitting crash. As Yassen spun round the door came flying clean off its hinges, revealing Ash crouched in the doorway like some monstrous beast of prey. Yassen leapt wildly, flinging himself out into the night, and as he did so he realised that he had made a simple miscalculation. Hoverboarding was all about strength and reflexes, and Ash now outstripped him in both. Seconds later the tell-tale scream of lifter fans hit his ears. He drove his board hard to the left so that Ash hurtled past him, flying faster than he would have dared to do. A low-hanging branch whipped over his head. Trees were coming more frequently around him, thickening into forest. He whipped to the side to avoid one, almost grazing the trunk, and realised another mistake. Out in the open Ash could only travel as fast as his board, but in here his heightened reflexes were allowing him to steer between the trees much faster than Yassen, cutting the distance between them every second. Branches whipped out at him from all sides, forcing him to dodge and duck constantly. His legs were screaming with the effort of steering the board. He heard a whine and dropped blind as Ash shot straight at him, nearly knocking him off his board. Now they were flying parallel, Ash five feet overhead, his lifter fans creating a wind that stirred Yassen's hair. Yassen spotted a gap in some branches and dived through it. Ash missed him once again, but Yassen heard his fans shriek as he made a hairpin turn to follow Yassen down to the forest floor.

Steering as smoothly as he could to keep his board quiet, Yassen wove between the trees, a few feet off the ground. He spotted a patch of thick undergrowth and steered into it, crouching and powering down the board. The lifter fans slowed and were silent.

Yassen remained utterly still. The forest was quiet. A few leaves rustled here and there; other than that, nothing. He breathed slowly in and out, focussing on making the air flow silently. And then he saw something that made his breath still altogether.

Ash was edging his board between the trees. The low electric hum filled Yassen's ears. Twice the dark, wolfen eyes swept over his hiding place, but he was fully concealed by the undergrowth. Even Ash couldn't see through solid wood. The man leapt of his hoverboard, feet slamming into the leaf litter with a force that betrayed his impatience, and looked around again. He crouched, pressing a hand to the ground, and closed his eyes, listening. Yassen did not stir.

A long breeze ruffled the leaves around him and Ash's nostrils flared, scenting the oncoming wind. Slowly his eyes slid open, and the corner of his mouth pulled up in a half-grin. Then his eyes fixed straight on Yassen.

Yassen plunged backwards and onto his board as Ash sprang at him again, a growl bursting in his throat. He had to get out of the forest; here, Ash had all the advantages. He crouched to make himself as streamlined as possible and sped forward, leaving the forest behind him. Up ahead he could hear the swishing of cars. He broke through a belt of trees and then the blaring sound of a horn enveloped him as he plunged straight in front of a juggernaut. He had come out in the middle of the motorway. He swerved round and began to follow the road, as Ash emerged and pulled up short, doing a full loop-the-loop to avoid crashing headlong into the juggernaut. Yassen pelted along, taking advantage of the unobstructed road ahead to make full use of the speed of his hoverboard. There weren't many drivers out this late at night, but Yassen had no idea what the few they did pass would make of his vehicle. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw that Ash was dropping back. He had picked a slightly newer design and his board had the edge when it came to speed. The junction into town was coming up and he took it. Out in the forest he had been prey to Ash's senses, but in the town a left and a right might lose him amongst the tangled streets.

Town came up surprisingly quickly. He took a left turn past a bus stop and suddenly he was flying up the main street, shop windows glinting blackly as they flickered past. Boots, Claire's Accessories, a dozen different coffee shops. He took a left, a right and another left but Ash still stayed on his tail. The man seemed unshakable, and Yassen was tiring now. He wondered how long he could carry on simply balancing on the board around these hard turns. He took a tight bend, Ash went shooting down the outside and suddenly they were neck and neck, speeding along together.

They were moving at exactly the same speed. As Yassen's eyes focussed on Ash, they might have been standing still. The wind blowing on his face and the rocking of the board seemed part of another world. As he watched, Ash's fangs were bared again in a final, triumphant grin.

And then there was an almighty clang and face and board were ripped out of his sight. Yassen was two hundred metres down the street and over a wall before his brain pieced together what had happened. Ash's vengeful feelings had been his downfall once again. Eyes focused on Yassen, he had crashed straight into a lamp post. Yassen sped on, true and straight now, a kind of cold satisfaction settling inside him. Whatever fancy modifications Ash might have, he was no match for years of experience. Yassen never got distracted.

But as he flew the other man's earlier words filtered back through to him. _I owe you for research_. Yassen slowed slightly, spreading his own hands before himself in the moonlight. And as he did so a crushing memory swam to the surface of his mind, blotting out everything else.

'_John! John!' There was nothing but his own anguished voice, calling out in utter darkness. A pain like losing your heart. Just the begging for it to end. And one sight: the cold glint of a scalpel in lamplight before the vision swam out of sight, leaving Yassen alone, still speeding along on his board. _

Gaps, flashbacks. Yassen pushed a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of it all. What had been done to him? He wondered if it even mattered. He remembered being picked up off the streets of Moscow, heading eagerly towards Malagosto. That had been his choice, definitely. But one thing was certain. Scorpia was a closed door to him now. Ash had replaced him; he was superfluous. And without his organisation to back him up, he would be vulnerable to MI6 or any of the other organisations he had antagonised at various times. If it hadn't been for the fact that Scorpia were done with him, maybe he would have been able to ignore this discovery, but now he had to know how much he had chosen, what had been done to him. He needed somewhere safe to hide, to get himself together and plan how to get the answers he needed. He flew swiftly back to the hotel; it was the first place Ash would look for him, but he wasn't surrendering his violin now. He hurried around the room, flinging the few items he had bothered to unpack back into his case. He lifted out the bottom and gazed down for a moment at the dark wood of the violin, and the backs of the photographs that he still did not turn over. Then with finality he slammed the case shut. He was heading back to the safest place he could think of. Its status as such was a sure testimony to how dangerous for him the rest of the world had become.

* * *

'Merry Christmas, Alex.'

Alex looked up as a brightly coloured package landed in his lap. He was sitting on one of the comfy blue chairs in the library with his science textbook open on his knee. As he looked up his friends descended on him from all sides and began dispensing Christmas presents to each other as well. It was the last day of the school term and a holiday atmosphere pervaded the school.

'You study too hard, Rider,' Clara remarked, nodding at his textbook.

'Thus spake the boffin-in-chief for all time,' Taylor grinned, rolling his eyes at Alex. 'Here you go, bruv.'

Taylor's present wasn't wrapped, just folded in a carrier bag. Alex pulled out a bright orange basket ball and span it on one finger.

'Basket ball?' he asked.

'Yeah, I thought we should maybe try branching out into something besides football.

'Sounds good to me. Wait, my presents are around here somewhere...'

He found his bag of presents under his chair and handed them out. He had been unsure what to get them and mostly opted for chocolate, but for Roberta he'd bought three packs of guitar strings. He wasn't sure it had been the right choice, but as soon as she unwrapped them her face lit up.

'Thanks Alex!'

'Uh, no problem. I didn't know if they'd be appropriate – '

'Of course they are; guitar strings are bloody expensive,' Roberta said bluntly. 'These'll keep me going for ages, thanks a lot.'

Alex was relieved. It had taken a non-negligible amount of courage to go into the music shop and browse for exactly the right kind of guitar strings, and it seemed that Rob knew this, because she looked genuinely touched.

Next to Roberta Josh had just finished ripping the paper off a box of oil pastels from Jane.

'Hey,' he said, his face flickering before falling back into its usual deadpan mask. 'These...' His eyes took on a dreamy quality as he pulled the lid off the box and took out one of the pastels, testing the texture on his finger. '...these are great.'

'You're welcome.'

'Need something to draw on...'

Jane rolled her eyes and extended her arm. Josh grabbed her wrist, spat on his pastel and began to sketch on her skin. Soon the individual strokes were meshing together into a Japanese-looking tree. Jane bent her head forward, examining the work, and Alex felt a sudden urge to glance away. Clara noticed and held forward her present to occupy his attention. It was a CD: Carmina Berana.

'Uh, Clara?'

'You'll love it.'

'So this would be...'

'Choral music, yeah.'

'You are just weird, Clara.'

'Alex, your taste in music is _horrible_,' she insisted. 'It brings new meaning to the term clichéd.'

'You are such a bitch, Clara,' Josh put in, smudging pastels across Jane's arm.

'Trueish, Josh, true_ish_. But this stuff rocks, Alex. It's all about the wheel of fortune and everything being miserable and gambling and then spring and romance and one of the greatest drinking choruses known to humanity and then just when it's getting good it's back to the bottom of the dratted wheel again. It has a male alto solo in it which it is Taylor's life ambition to do.'

'Male alto?'

'Yeah, trying to recapture the magical era before my voice broke,' Taylor said, demonstrating a few bars in an eerily high-pitched tone. 'The top line is where all the action is.'

'Crikey, you sound like a crow with laryngitis,' Alex blanched.

'Shut up, frog, have some chocolate.'

At this point the librarian came over to kick them out for the dual offence of singing and eating in the library.

'Come on, guys, let's hit the town,' Rob said the second the bell went.

They wandered down the high street, already growing dark and glittering with Christmas lights.

'It's sick, man, they put them up so early we're all bored of them by December,' Clara grumbled.

'Such is the crushing influence of consumerism,' Jane sighed. Alex took a moment to marvel at the strangeness of it all, walking down the street with a bunch of boffins/band dorks who all knew his secret, feeling perfectly included. Now that there were no assassins to worry about (though he was still keeping his eyes open) it was striking him afresh.

They stopped off at the bakery to get something to eat. Clara and Jane went all sophisticated with sugar-dusted mince pies, but Alex got himself a large chocolate doughnut covered in sprinkles.

'Alright, where to next?' Jane asked briskly.

'Go get shumfin more shubshtanshial for dinner?' Alex suggested, squirting chocolate sauce everywhere.

'You had better not get any of that on my shoes, frog,' Roberta said menacingly, edging away down the street.

'_Chill_, Rob,' Alex drawled, once he'd managed to chew and swallow his mouthful. She gave a surprisingly light-hearted giggle, and he said:

'What?'

'Oh, just your tone of voice.'

* * *

Yassen pressed himself flat against the ally wall so that he could see the group on the high street. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get rid of the scratching headache behind his temples. His stomach was churning with nerves, and he smiled wryly. How ridiculous, now of all times.

Alex looked cautiously elated, his face stretched into a permanent smile as he munched on some awful cake or other. The guitarist had her hand almost protectively on his shoulder, explaining something with a lot of sweeping hand gestures. As he watched Clara said something and they all laughed together, except for the burly drummer, Josh, who's mouth twitched upwards in a smile.ii

Yassen stepped out into the road behind them, feeling strangely reluctant to break their carefree mood. How to announce himself. He knew he was currying favour, currying it with a bunch of teenagers, but he couldn't resist laying on a little bravado, just to boost his own confidence. He raised his voice to a carrying pitch, and said:

'Good evening.'

Clara whirled around with a shriek. Taylor and Roberta had sprung forward and were clutching onto her, as though they could protect her simply by hanging on. Alex was frightened, Yassen could tell, but the emotion did not travel further than his eyes as he moved into combat stance in front of his friends.

The look on Yassen's face was reserved for Alex alone. How could he fight his best friend's son, even if he had come here to fight? Slowly, he raised his hands.

**A/N: Yes, that is my next move. Just don't say anything. Wait, what am I saying?**

**REVIEW! I am out of the loop for the next three days and when I get back I expect to see a whole PILE of reviews in my inbox. Pretty please. Those of you who are not getting the whole Specials/hoverboards thing (because believe me, I don't understand half of what I've written myself) read Uglies, Pretties and Specials by Scott Westerfeld. They are pretty good in their own right. Haha, that came out weird, like saying that they could be seen as only side shows to my own Magnum Opus (this) Lol. **

i Did you know that during heart surgery they pour ice water into the chest cavity to stop the heart? And they take your blood away in tubes all around the operation theatre to be oxygenated in a special machine. Fab, isn't it?

I dissected a heart yesterday, can you tell?

ii Yes, I get a kick out of describing my OCs from other people's POVs.


	20. Chapter 19: Alliance

**Chapter 19: Alliance**

**Disclaimer: **Don't own.

In absentia youth choir tour was great, thanks. We sang all my favourite songs spontaneously outside Wells cathedral and people stopped to listen. Then we read Twilight in silly voices.

Yassen could see every relationship in the band from where he stood. The way Roberta kept Clara tucked protectively into her side, the way Taylor came to join Alex as though he could possibly be of any help, the way Josh followed suit, carefully positioning himself in front of Jane as he did so. All laid out in front of him.

'Don't come any closer!' Alex snarled.

'Don't look so worried, Alex. I just want to talk.'

Clara gave a piercing, hysterical laugh.

'Talk?' she demanded. 'What the fuck is there to _talk_ about?'

'I can explain.' Yassen took a step forward, and immediately Josh stepped out from behind Taylor, standing half in front of him, so that he and Yassen were almost face to face. Yassen could see why such a boy would feel confident in a fight; his arms were thick and muscle-bound and his face was almost empty of fear.

Foolish child.

'Look,' he said, speaking for some reason directly to Josh. He had once told Alex that he admired courage. It was true. He pulled out his Grach and the children flinched backwards a step. He set the gun down on the pavement – throwing it down seemed too melodramatic to bear – and straightened up again. 'I surrender. Will you listen.'

Alex dived forwards, seizing the gun and bringing it up to aim at Yassen's chest.

'Back up against the wall,' he ordered. Yassen complied. He had expected as much. 'Don't move an inch,' Alex ordered, pulling out a mobile telephone. The ringing authority in his voice sparked a twist of sadness in Yassen. No child should be able to speak like that.

'Wolf,' the boy was hissing into the receiver. Yassen gave a slight grimace. He was calling for his soldier friends. That wouldn't make negotiations any easier; the SAS had always been shoot first, think never types. There was an explosion of incoherent shouting from the phone, and Alex held it away from his ear, his expression long-suffering. He was so like John, to have time for theatrical exasperation even in the middle of a desperate crisis.

'So what?' he demanded, clicking the phone off. 'If I'm going to stop the SAS from shooting you on sight I'd better have a good story. Why are you here.' He kept brandishing the gun around for confidence. Yassen sighed and came straight out with it.

'Scorpia seem to think I have reached the end of my usefulness to them, but a…situation has come to light. I would like to use your house as a base while I do a bit of digging.'

If Alex had been drinking a glass of orange juice he would have spat it clear across the street with shock at that point.

'WHAT???' he shrieked like his voice had never broken. 'You try to assassinate my friend and then you pop up and say I'd like to crash at your place for a while Alex.'

'Alex, breathe,' Clara instructed.

'Don't tell me what to do Clara!'

'Fine, suffocate then, see if I care.' She turned to Yassen. 'Elaborate. Why do you want to stay at Alex's? What do you mean by a _situation_?' Her voice held the kind of contempt one can only muster when in extreme shock.

Yassen opened his mouth – some part of him managing to be amused at the thought of submitting to interrogation by a seventeen-year-old girl – but then there was a screech of tyres on Tarmac and a car spun into the ally and four black silhouettes came tumbling out.

'Gregorovich!' one of them yelled, shouldering his rifle, but Roberta shouted:

'Don't shoot!' and the man must have had a crush on her because he hesitated.

'Yeah, don't shoot,' the leader, Wolf, echoed. 'Keep your guns on him, men, don't let him move.'

'I am not going to move, Wolf,' Yassen said. He saw the slight flicker in the man's expression when he used his name. 'Why do you suppose I come here and put down my gun if I wish to fight?'

The soldier ignored him, indicating to his unit to keep their weapons trained on him, and turned to Clara and her friends.

'Miss Foster, go and sit in the car,' he ordered. If anything happens I want you to drive like hell. The rest of you kids go home NOW!'

Jane looked ready to obey, but the others hesitated.

'Clara, are you going to be OK?' Roberta faltered.

'I said go.'

'Wolf,' Taylor argued, I think she needs –'

'_Go_.'

Taylor planted himself stubbornly. 'I don't have a ride without her man.'

'I don't give a damn, you can walk if you have to. Now get out of here!' Wolf roared. Yassen watched as Clara's friends turned tail with many anxious and terrified glances over their shoulders and hurried off down the road. Clara had slipped into the driver's seat of the car but had left the door propped slightly open, so that she could hear what was said. Alex was standing with the rest of the unit. He looked like one of them, the youngest member. Like some hideous foretelling of the future. Yassen closed his eyes briefly and opened them again.

'So get talking, Gregorovich,' Wolf growled. 'What do you want?'

Yassen took a breath and opened his mouth. And paused. What he was feeling was ridiculous. A trained assassin, in a life-threatening situation, and he was _embarrassed_. He couldn't bear to think of the words as he spoke them, just let them tumble flatly out of his mouth.

The orange-juice expression was back.

'You _what_?' Wolf spluttered. 'You expect us to believe you became Scorpia's most notorious assassin because they operated on your _brain_?'

'No-o…' Yassen said patiently.

'Bollocks.'

He raised one eyebrow. He shouldn't really be winding the soldier up like this, but he couldn't make himself grovel down and curry favour, and he was despising Wolf more with every passing second.

'I have seen what they did to Ash,' he said, coldly, evenly. 'He is without mercy, without remorse. I believe the areas of his brain dealing with such emotions have been repressed. His aggression centres and logistical ability have been increased.' HE looked Wolf straight in the eye. 'If I am correct in my theories, this concerns MI6 and the SAS as much as it does me. Once Scorpia have succeeded in producing one such creation, they will surely continue. Your volunteer troops will be overwhelmed.'

'If Scorpia think a bunch of souped-up street thugs are a match for skill and training they need their heads checked,' Wolf sneered. 'Not that I believe you,' he added hastily.

'There are research programmes,' the quiet Scottish soldier murmured, 'experimenting with repressing or amplifying certain centres of the brain with lesions – artificial scars or implants – in rats and mice. And Scorpia don't have the same ethics restrictions normal doctors do. It's theoretically possible.'

'Shut up, Snake.'

'You'll regret that when the super-vampires descend to eat your brain, Wolf,' remarked another soldier.

'For God's sake!' Wolf exploded. 'There _are_ no super-vampires. He's just spinning some stupid story to –'

'I think he'd have come up with something more plausible than this if he wanted to trick us into something,' Alex said heavily.

'And he can't have been after killing Clara either,' Fox added, 'because – no offence, Cub – he could have done it before we turned up. He's right, Wolf. If there are any…super-vampires, it could turn into a very big problem for MI6. And if he has some ulterior motive, I would very much like to know what it is.'

'So what, just…just let him in the house? Next door to Foster?' Wolf demanded.

'MI6 will never approve that.' This was Alex.

'MI6 don't have to know,' Fox replied. 'I always hated those blood-sucking intelligence workers anyway.'

'You're crazy!' Alex yelled. 'Go behind Blunt's back, offer Clara up as bait again, just to…'

'It's not my fault you got attached, Cub,' Fox said, surprisingly gently.

'It's not my fault this mission got totally fucked up and out of control, either.'

'No' Fox shook his head slowly. 'I know, Cub. I know you're the only one who's performed with any degree of competence in this assignment, and you're right, too. But there's no other way.'

Alex closed his mouth and looked away. Of course there were other ways. He could demand that they take Yassen to their superiors, who could gain the information they needed down in the subterranean rooms that the public didn't know about, where the Declaration of Human Rights did not apply, but something in him turned against it. Not John Rider's best friend, the closest thing he had to a father. The closest thing. It was pretty damn far. He looked towards the car, where Clara was watching from flat dark eyes. She and her friends were like family to him, but somehow he couldn't let go of Yassen even to ensure their safety. The two of them were wound too closely together, and he had never had a chance at answers from Yassen. He felt sickened at himself as he muttered:

'You're right. There is no other way. We'll have to help him 'till we find out more.'

Yassen heard his consent and began to glide forwards, but Wolf brought him up short with his gun.

'Get in the back,' he ordered, gesturing at the car. Gregorovich slid into the back seat as though he were climbing into a taxi, or a private limousine. Wolf ground his teeth as he slammed the door and climbed in the front. Clara wriggled over to give him the drivers seat. Her eyes were closed and her face very pale. Wolf shook his head. Poor kid.

The rest of his unit, Cub and Gregorovich were crammed uncomfortably into the back. With their hands clenched on the Russian's upper arms they had no way of bracing themselves against the swaying of the car. Wolf heard Cub hiss as Eagle lurched into him around a corner. It sounded like a bitten-back retort, and Wolf was grateful. He didn't think he could stand it if the two of them started bickering now.

Finally he pulled into the drive-way of their house. Fox and Eagle frogmarched Yassen up the path and into the hallway. Wolf stopped in the front door and turned to Clara.

'We'll have three of us on guard all night…' he promised her.

'I feel _so_ reassured,' she replied sardonically and headed off for her own house without a backward glance.

Yassen watched her go over Wolf's shoulder with a faint smile on his face. All together impressive. She would probably make it into her house before the hysterics set in.

'That room's spare.' Wolf jerked his head at a door and then walked back out to watch the front of the house.

'Don't try anything Gregorovich,' the Scot muttered. He and the other soldiers disappeared into the living room.

Yassen was left staring at Alex across the hallway. The boy was standing in the doorway, about to vanish. Yassen drew in breath to speak, but Alex cut across him.

'The bathroom's second door on the right, if you want to argue with Clara do your research, don't make Jane mad, she will throw things at your head.'

'Alex –'

SLAM

Yassen sighed, went into the spare room and dropped, fully clothed, onto the bed. It was going to be a long night.

**A/N: You have no idea how long I have been sitting on that little exchange! So how's the plausibility factor? Is not my plotting seamless, all implausibilitis smoothed over? Does not my story resemble a fishing net, so full of holes it is? Lol.**

**Hilo:** Of course not finished? What gave you that idea? Glad you still like it, keep the reviews coming.

**Just me:** Glad you liked it.

**Wolfmonster:** Well, you learn something new every day!

**Sorry I forgot to reply to you all last chapter, though this sort of thing wouldn't happen if you would get accounts. Yes Hilo, I know you're a special case.**

**Tzoomi:** Genius? You're too kind. Of course Yassen isn't going to hurt ALex, he luuuurrrvvvves him too much. For some inexplicable reason.

**Guepard:** Mwahaha. I have you hanging onto my every word. And I am even amazing myself by managing to fulfil your request of updating as soon as I get back. Short chappie though, soz.

**Rider girl9:** Dang it, I just did it again! I've realised what Alex has been trying to tell me all this time: he does not want to talk to Yassen! Gasp! He slammed the door on him and everything! Oh well, he's jsut gonna have to.

**Memememe:** Yeah, I searched and found that there was only like one other fic about Alex involving music, which amazed me. Glad you like the subject material, and I hope you continue to enjoy.

**Wow I have a lot of anonymous reviewers.**


	21. Chapter 20: House Room

**Chapter 20: House Room**

**A/N: SORRREEEEEEEE for the ridiculously, hideously long wait. I got sidetracked into Tokyo Mew Mew. You can go over to their fandom with your torches and pitchforks if you like, and read my new stories while you're at it :P.**

Feeling sick, Alex walked up to Clara's door and knocked. Yassen and K Unit were standing behind him, none of them speaking. So apparently he was their mediator as well now. Clara opened the door, looking horribly pale. When she saw who was there, her eyes bugged out.

Alex's face twisted in apology.

'He needs to use the computer,' he said, gesturing with one hand. Clara looked at him.

'So MI6 did not install a computer?' she asked.

'No, they've all been accessing the internet on their I-phones.'

'Well, can't he borrow an I-phone?'

'No, they've got sensitive information stored on them.'

'I – I –' Clara stuttered. 'Look, you know what, perfect!'

She flung the door wide open and stalked off towards the kitchen. The rest of them walked hesitantly into the house.

'Study,' Alex grunted, pointing, and Yassen disappeared into the room he indicated and booted up the computer. K Unit stayed where they were.

Alex followed Clara down to the kitchen.

'What does he even need it for?' she asked. She was standing at the sink with her back to him, busy with nothing.

'Research.'

'Oh, well _that's_ illuminating.'

'I'm sorry, Clara – '

'S'not your fault.' Her voice sounded brittle. _Don't cry_, Alex thought, _please don't cry_.

'So, you told Jack yet?' Clara asked, now sounding too normal.

'Oh God, I hope I never have to.'

'Yeah, I can imagine that wouldn't be fun...' She was trying to keep up the bravado, but Alex noticed that her hands were shaking. Suddenly she knocked a glass off the draining board and into the sink. He watched it shatter, turn from a smooth, flawless object into a mess of broken glass, and next thing he knew he was pulling Clara gently away from the sink.

'Clara, look, go practise the piano or something. Let me do this...'

Clara sucked in a huge, shuddering breath and whispered 'Okay.' She hurried out of the room, and a moment later he heard some very fast and complicated classical piece being played.

He scooped the shards of glass carefully out of the sink and binned them, then finished the washing up. The steady, mindless task helped to keep his own panic at bay, but the sound of the piano reminded him of a moth beating itself against a light bulb. He was sweating, his skin prickling with tension. He stacked the last of the breakfast dishes to dry and then flopped down with his back to the wall, burying his face in his hands. He sat like that until he heard the front door swing open again.

'Alex?'

He looked up sharply. 'Taylor? How did you get here?'

Taylor shrugged. 'Cycled.'

'I meant how did you get in.'

'Well, the door wasn't locked...I guess everyone you're worried about is already inside, huh?'

'Heh.' Alex laughed weakly. 'Yeah.'

'So how's it going?'

'Oh God.'

'That bad, huh?'

'Yep, pretty much.'

There was a thundering knock on the door. Alex went to get it. Josh, Jane, and Roberta came tumbling over the threshold, calling 'Clara, Clara?'

'Guys!' Clara exclaimed, popping out of the living room. 'Taylor!'

'Oh wow, I get a special mention!' Taylor gushed, hugging her.

'So you got an assassin in your study, huh?' Rob said.

'Yup; my life sucks. Come on, I'll make you some hot chocolate and cookies.'

Yassen heard the front door open and knew that Clara's friends had arrived. He was impressed, but not altogether surprised. Turning up to help her face life-threatening situations was seeming increasingly like the kind of thing they would do.

He heard Clara lead them into the kitchen and start clanking around with mugs and bottles of milk.

'Oy, you boys, shift your sexist butts and help.'

'Why do _we_ have to help?' Taylor moaned. 'I don't see you slave-driving Rob and Jane. But I guess you protect your own, huh?'

'Taylor, I am simply trying to remodel you into New Men for your own good.'

'Our own good, huh?'

'Seriously, this could shape your dating futures. Anyway, I know a lost cause when I see one. They're musicians, not domestic goddesses.'

'That's right,' Rob concurred around her gum. .'Where are...ah, _K Unit_, Alex?'

'I don't know, off being useless somewhere,' Alex grunted, taking a large bite of chocolate cookie.

At this point Yassen decided to venture forth from the study. He wasn't sure exactly what he hoped to achieve by it, but nonetheless he stood, pulled open the door and stepped into the kitchen.

The six teenagers had been clustered around in a circle, talking, but at the sight of him they drew back, drawing closer together and turning to face him. The simultaneous movement sent the slightest ping of warning through them. They might be untrained children, but they were close-knit and synchronised and that made them dangerous. He closed the study door quietly behind him, examining them as he did so. They looked almost like members of some other bright, ragged, mysterious species to him, with their bold clothing and slouching, self-conscious postures and brilliant, over-expressive eyes. They watched him warily for a few seconds, and then one of them – Jane – shook back her hair as though to say: 'this is ridiculous. Who does he think he is?' and stepped forward.

'Hello,' she said. 'We haven't been properly introduced yet. My name's Jane; I play violin for the band.' She held out her hand.

Yassen watched the reactions of the others over her head as they shook. Alex looked like he might start either laughing or screaming, Taylor was shaking his head in admiration...only Josh seemed totally unaffected. He was staring unwaveringly at Yassen with an appraising expression that the Russian couldn't quite interpret. When Yassen met his eyes he carried on looking with an air that was not quite caring enough to be insolence.

'We-ell...' Clara said as Jane finished shaking his hand and stepped back.

'He knows who I am,' Rob said flatly, grabbing Clara by the arm. 'C'mon, I wanna show you a new piece I've been working on.'

She dragged Clara off towards the living room, throwing Yassen a look of pure venom as she went. The others slowly followed, glancing uneasily over their shoulders as they turned their backs on him. Yassen stepped back into the study and sat down at the computer, but after staring at the screen for a few seconds he realised that the brief encounter had left him feeling drained. A few more seconds and he had hit on why.

It was an emotion overload.

Only Josh had a face that was as difficult to read as those he was used to. The others were like open books, but their expressions were so intense, and changed so rapidly, that it was the opposite of relaxing. The way the air crackled between Clara and Jane even when they were outwardly amicable, the anxious, motherly looks Rob kept throwing Alex...and of course, at their age, they had yet to realise that they were not the centre of the universe, that there might be people who were not the slightest bit interested in what they were thinking and feeling. Their faces were not yet tarnished with the dreariness of everyday life.

And the result was overwhelming.

There was a knock on the door.

'Yes?' he called, frowning slightly.

The door opened a crack and Josh slid into the room shoulder first.

'Hi,' he said. 'Mind if I hang out here for a bit?'

'...no,' Yassen answered, increasingly puzzled.

'Cool, thanks.' Josh grabbed a chair and dragged it until he was sitting at right angles to Yassen, pulled out a sketchpad and a pencil and began to draw.

Yassen glanced towards him, mildly disconcerted.

'DON'T turn your head,' Josh ordered, reaching up and turning his face back towards the computer screen. 'Just shuffle your chair back a bit so the light falls on your face.'

Yassen complied, and then turned his attention back onto the computer. Or tried to, anyway. He had brought up a website for the Widow's Palace and was now attempting to hack from there into Scorpia files, but the scratch of Josh's pencil was proving very distracting.

'Meh,' Josh muttered, tearing the first page off his pad and staring again. 'Bring out the cheekbones more...'

He could hear the odd chord being played on the piano and the murmur of voices, and then someone started to sing. A fine, vibrant tenor, leaping suddenly and shockingly up into a falsetto wail. It must be Taylor. More speech. A harmony demonstrated one note at a time on the piano. Taylor began again, accompanied by another voice this time, which had to be Alex.

They repeated the same phrase a few times, interspersed with instructions and suggestions from the girls.

Taylor demonstrated the line in two different octaves.

An electric guitar started up.

'I wish you would stick to one expression, man,' Josh remarked, rubbing out with his shoulders hunched.

* * *

They had been at it for a good hour, Yassen trying to work and Josh industriously sketching, when Jane and Taylor came in.

'Josh, what on earth are you doing?' Jane demanded. 'Drawing Yassen?' They stepped forward and leaned over Josh's shoulders. 'You've been in here all morning.'

'He has interesting facial structure,' Josh grunted, not taking his eyes off his work. Taylor and Jane met each other's eyes over his head and shrugged simultaneously.

'Hmmm.' Jane glanced from the drawing to Yassen and back again. 'I see what you mean.'

'But we need you to come and try out a few drum rhythms for us now, bruv,' Taylor said. Yassen groaned inwardly. It seemed that if he didn't have to put up with the boy _drawing_ him, he would have to put up with him drumming.

'Get Jane to do it,' Josh said.

'But I –'

'This is your next lesson. Improv. Crucial developmental stage. Knock yourself out.' Josh reimmersed himself in his portrait with all the finality of a father disappearing behind a newspaper. Taylor and Jane shrugged again and left.

Scratch that. He would have to put up with Josh drawing him while Jane played the drums. And probably with less accuracy than Josh would have done, which would make listening harder to bear, though in truth she hadn't been bad at all in the concert...

With an effort Yassen hauled himself out of his drum-related thought groove and reapplied his mind to computer hacking.

* * *

At about two o'clock Clara stuck her head around the door and said:

'Um, excuse me, are you two coming out for lunch?'

'Definitely, I'm starving,' Josh said, getting to his feet. 'C'mon, Yassen.'

Yassen got slowly to his feet, stretching out his arms. Clara stopped Josh in the doorway and said:

'Let's see.'

Josh showed her the sketchpad.

'Those are jolly good,' Clara said in an almost vague tone. She looked from the drawings to Yassen and back again. '_Jolly_ good.'

Yassen stepped forward and peered over Josh's shoulder, interested in spite of himself. The page was a mess of rough outlines and sketches, and superimposed over them were three drawings of his face. Yassen blinked. It was startling, like seeing a ghost, or looking into a mirror for the first time in one's life. One of the faces was entirely empty of expression, but in another something subtle burned. It made him uneasy to see how accurately Josh read him; or was it just his artist's hand capturing what he saw, while his mind did not speculate at all.

It would be comforting to believe that.

In the top left-hand corner of the page three solitary, experimental eyes stood in a column. Underneath them Josh had scribbled:

_Eyeshadow 4 colour?_

'...scary,' Clara was saying. 'Now wash your hands.'

'Aaaawwww, _Clara_...'

'They're covered in pencil. Wash them!'

Josh sloped off to the sink and Yassen followed Clara into the dining room, where the others were already helping themselves to pasta.

'Clara, you rock,' Taylor declared, splashing sauce onto his plate. 'Oh, uh...' He had just caught sight of Yassen entering the room. K Unit all stiffened in their seats as he sat down opposite them, keeping his hands in plain sight.

'Is Josh coming?' Roberta asked briskly, breaking the tension.

'Yes, he just needed to wash his hands,' Clara replied, sitting down and beginning to serve herself.

'Needed, huh,' Josh grumbled, appearing in the doorway and plonking himself down in a chair.

'I think she's right, you've always got bits of oil pastel and things stuck under your nails,' Jane said as Josh began to ladle huge amounts of pasta onto his plate.

'It's me who'll be eating it if I don't wash it off, not you,' Josh pointed out with his mouth full. 'That which does not destroy us makes us strong and all that.'

'Speaking of nails I need to re-do mine,' Roberta sighed, spreading hers out and examining them dolefully.

'I guess a liking for nail-varnish isn't really compatible with playing the guitar?' Alex said, speaking for the first time. His eyes never left Yassen and he looked ready to spring across the table and knock Clara to the floor at any moment.

'Nope, not really. My thumb nails are smooshed down to practically nothing.'

'You can tell a lot about a person by their hands,' Jane remarked with the air of one about to drop a bombshell. She turned to Yassen. 'For example, I could tell as soon as I shook your hand that you are a violinist.'

Yassen stared at her for a long moment. To everyone else at the table it probably looked like a death glare, and Jane shrank back a little, but in truth it was simply shock.

'I beg your pardon?' he said at last.

'A violinist.' Jane seemed to recover her nerve a little. She leaned forwards and raised one of her hands. 'You've got calluses like I have right here under your nails, from pressing on the strings, I think?'

Yassen was smiling a little at her audacity as he examined his own hand. 'Yes,' he agreed, 'you are perfectly right. I have.'

'Rob gets them on her thumb from strumming,' Jane said, gabbling a little with relief. 'I don't think you get many on piano and saxophone –'

'No,' Clara said, 'but that's not the only way you can tell stuff from hands. I'm always writing things on mine.' She held out her hand to show the words '_GET MORE COFFEE!_' emblazoned across it in black biro.

'I wonder what kind of calluses you get from holding a gun?' Jane mused.

Josh gave a rather grim smile. 'Probably the same as what you get from holding a drumstick. At the base of the fingers where they join the hand; here.'

'Yeah, that's about right,' Eagle agreed. 'Specially round the trigger finger.'

'Mmm,' Jane nodded, turning back to Yassen. 'Clara wrote a piece for two violins and piano for her A level composition. We could sight-read through it after lunch if you like.'

Yassen looked at her long and hard. He knew that the most sensible thing to do would be to refuse, but somehow it sounded like a challenge. Jane was challenging him to take her and her friends on in their bizarre artist world. And one couldn't seem intimidated.

'Very well,' he said indifferently.

Alex choked over his pasta and Josh thumped him on the back.

* * *

After lunch Wolf and Alex walked Yassen back over to their house to fetch his violin.

'Don't try anything, Gregorovich,' Wolf growled as he opened the door.

'What on earth might I try that would involve playing the violin with this girl?' Yassen enquired reasonably.

'Well, there was that incident with the guitar last week, if you recall,' Alex murmured.

Yassen winced internally. He had momentarily forgotten about that.

'In my opinion that particular method was a waste of time,' he said, making for the stairs.

'Didn't stop you trying it once,' Alex called after him, folding his arms and propping up the wall.

Yassen opened the door to his bedroom and stepped inside, picking up his case and placing it on his bed. He opened it and pulled out the false bottom. There was the violin, there were the photographs. This time he flipped them over briefly. The first showed himself and John Rider, expertly slaloming down a black ski run. He couldn't remember who had taken it; whoever they were, they must have been a good photographer, and extremely trustworthy. The second was in black and white. It showed him standing beside his father, smiling proudly, trying to hold himself up straight, with his chin held unnaturally high. Yassen threw that one back into the case with a grimace and, after a moment's consideration, pocketed the second. Alex might like to see it. Then again he might not. Either way he should.

He lifted the violin up out of its velvet packaging. The old wood was mottled but still sleek and varnished. He fitted it under his chin and drew the bow slowly across the strings, listening intently, tightening here, loosening there...he could get it in tune with itself, at least.

* * *

'How much longer is that damned Russian going to take?' Wolf demanded, staring irritably at the ceiling as scraping notes drifted down to them.

'He has to tune up!' Alex told him indignantly.

Wolf turned very slowly to look at him. 'Er, Cub? I think those kids are getting to you.'

'Huh?'

'You do realise that is the weirdest thing you have ever said?'

'Oh.' Alex blushed a bit. 'Right.'

Yassen came back down the stairs, holding his violin and bow very delicately in front of him, his face more blank than ever.

'Right, come on,' Wolf grunted, kicking the door open and stomping off down the drive. When they got back Clara was sitting in front of the piano, looking very white and playing single notes for Jane to tune to.

'Uh, hi Yassen...' Jane beckoned him over to a music stand where a lot of sheet music was laid out. 'Do you want to play first or s-second?'

'Which have you been playing?' Yassen asked, feeling that he needed to reclaim a little status.

'First.'

'I'll read second then.'

'OK; it's probably easier.'

'Let's tune,' Yassen said, playing a long, sustained note. Jane nodded. They bent their heads together, listening closely, comparing pitch.

'You're a little sharp,' Jane said.

Alex stood next to Taylor for emotional support.

'This is absolutely...'

'Hideous?' Taylor suggested in a rather high voice.

'I was going to say surreal, but that works too.'

'Look at him with his little _violin_,' Rob sneered, moving to stand beside them. 'Who does he think he is, anyway?'

Alex gave her a what-are-you-talking-about-this-is-not-the-issue-here look, but he could see what she meant. It did seem rather hypocritical. As he turned back to watch the three players Clara struck a low, thundering chord on the piano and Jane began to play a slow, mournful introduction.

Yassen turned the page for her as she played, then came in on a series of low, sustained notes beneath her.

'I think cello would be better there...' Jane whispered.

'Jane, just _play_.'

There was a pause in the music, and then Yassen came in on a sharp, jagged rhythm, his brow furrowed in concentration as he followed the notes on the page. Jane began to play over him, the two parts meshing together in a complex harmony before Clara came crashing in underneath them. The music was growing faster and more cheerful. Yassen gritted his teeth, moving his whole body with the violin as he negotiated the change.

'Hey, he's _good_,' Taylor exclaimed. 'OW!' he added as Alex and Roberta stood simultaneously on his feet from either side.

The mood of the piece changed again, becoming almost jazzy. Yassen fudged his way through a ridiculously complicated passage, then cut off and took a much needed breather while Jane played a long series of unaccompanied ornamentations. She paused on the top note...inched one note higher...and then came tumbling rapidly back down into the tune while Yassen and Clara came in to catch her. The piece took off into a final climax and finished with two decisive chords and a huge glissando down the full length of the keyboard.

'Clara!' Jane yelled. 'That wasn't in the script!'

'I'm the composer.' Clara was actually laughing now. 'My word is law. SO what did you think of it?'

'It's very good,' Yassen said blandly. 'The mood is quite varied.'

'Well, I was playing with my medium, you know.'

'I'm pretty sure this wants to be an orchestra piece really,' Jane said, peering at the music.

'Well, maybe I can re-arrange it,' Clara replied. 'Our big break.'

'Hey, I thought that was meant to be me on my guitar!' Rob protested.

'I can see it all now!' Jane cried, ignoring her. 'We shall travel to Europe and play in the great New Year's Day concert in Vienna. We shall perform the Waltz of the Blue Danube on the very banks of the river in question. Clara conducting (no piano in orchestra, sorry), and Yassen and I as first and second chair! What do you say, Yassen?'

'I despise Strauss.'

'Huh. You would. Killjoy.' Jane turned mock-grumpily to gather up the music, still grinning. 'That was quite an impressive piece of sight-reading. It sounds much better live than when the computer software plays it.'

_Please,_ Alex thought, _please don't tell me they_ like _Yassen Gregorovich_. _Oh God, I can see them getting on. It's exactly the sort of thing they would do._

The others, who had gathered to listen to the performance, were now drifting away. Alex turned to follow them, but Yassen called after him:

'Alex.'

Clara and Jane took one look and melted away. Alex cursed them.

'What?' he said.

'This is a picture of your father,' Yassen said without preamble, holding it out. Alex didn't want to take it, but what else was he supposed to do?

It was a photograph of two people skiing. It wasn't like there was much to look at; his father's face and hair were mostly obscured by sunglasses, scarf and hat.

'Who's that with him?' he asked.

'Me.'

Alex did a double-take. He looked more closely at the second figure, slighter than his father, though it was hard to tell the difference under the bulky jackets.

'Skiing?' he asked.

'It was part of my training. It was also rather fun.' Yassen shrugged indifferently. 'He was extremely good at it.'

'It sounds like he was good at everything,' Alex murmured. Yassen didn't miss the bitterness in his voice.

'You're still angry about the truth I told you,' he said. It was a statement, not a question.

'I don't like the idea of having an assassin for a father,' Alex said, completely truthfully.

'Alex, MI6 have trained you to see the world in black and white, but in my opinion your father was a very worth-while person. He was always _good_ to me.'

'You know what Clara and the others said to me?' Alex said, his voice suddenly full of suppressed rage. 'They said "at this age most kids are trying to be as different from their dads as possible. What does it matter what he was?" And you know _nothing_ about my father.' For a moment he was tempted to throw the truth about his father in Yassen's face, but something in him made him hold back. After all, what would be the point? And anyway, Yassen _might_ just decide to turn around and kill him if he knew that John Rider hadn't been on his side after all. He sighed and made to hand the photo back.

'Keep it.'

'But...' Alex was astonished, and not a little irritated, but he settled for the most courteous objection first: 'Are you sure?'

'I have no need of it.' Yassen was suddenly cold and distant again. He turned around and left the room, leaving Alex staring at the photo, feeling utterly perplexed.

**A/N: Tuning up – sometimes an instrument goes 'out of tune', meaning that it is playing just very slightly off the note. Too high or too low. When tuning up you make sure that it is playing exactly on the note. Don't know how much sense that made, PM me or look on Wikipedia.**

**Sharp – Off-key a little too high. Flat is a little too low.**

**Glissando – a slide up or down.**

**I am away for three weeks, but all the same, please review. I swear I'll get back to you eventually.**

Rider Girl9: **Thanks as ever for the review ******


	22. Chapter 21: Sketches

**Sketches**

**A/N: SORRY!!!!**

**There is absolutely no excuse for how long I have made you guys wait. Blame me. Blame Tokyo Mew Mew. Whatever. Yeah, them. Gah, no time for this if you want this chapter, must...post!**

**True**

'Yassen the assassin reared his ugly head yet?' were Josh's first words when he turned up on Alex's doorstep at eight am the following morning.

'I suspect him of being awake, but I haven't actually seen him yet.' Alex had been up since six, and doing nothing more productive than staring at the photograph Yassen had given him when Josh arrived, so he was tired but not irritated by the early call. 'What d'you want then?' Josh set little or no store by polite phrasing of questions, so Alex felt safe in being blunt.

'I wanted to go up the lane and paint the bare oak trees in the light of the rising sun. The others are all here, Clara fancied a walk and she said we should bring you. Wanna come?'

'OK then.' He was already wearing trainers and a jacket, so he simply yelled: 'I'm going out!' over his shoulder and stepped out of the door, slamming it shut behind him. Outside the day was crispy and full of yellow autumn leaves, and the sky was opalescent overhead. Breathing in the sharp air, Alex wanted to run.

'Weather forecast mentioned snow,' Josh said.

'Pretty clear now, though. Where are the others?'

'Waiting in the lane. C'mon.'

He found their friends clustered on the verge, wrapped in coats and scarves with the steam of their breath rising in puffs above them. Taylor was just locking up his bike on a lamp post as Josh and Alex stepped out of the drive.

'You cycled over?' Alex asked him.

'Dur, man,' Taylor said good-naturedly, straightening up to clap him on the shoulder. 'C'mon, guys, let's bounce.'

They walked for about a quarter of the mile up the lane to a group of gnarled oak trees, where Josh, to the alarm of the others, lay down in the middle of the road, propped his canvas on his knees and began to sketch in the shapes of the branches that twisted overhead.

'It's eight in the morning at the weekend,' he said when they protested. 'If you're so worried, go watch for cars.'

'Pah,' Jane tutted, and she and Clara strode off in opposite directions to scan the road for cars.

'Race you to the other side of the field,' Taylor challenged Alex. That was all he needed. The two of them hurried to the verge, jostling each other's elbows to ensure that neither started before time, and then plunged forwards. Alex ditched his jacket half way across the field, relishing the feel of the wind whipping through his hair. Taylor had a slight edge on him when it came to speed, but he was a sprinter and by the time they reached the other side of the field Alex was drawing level. They skidded to a halt side by side and stopped to catch their breath.

'Beat you back!' Alex yelled as soon as Taylor had got comfortable with his hands on his knees, and streaked off with his protests fading behind him. This time he won by a couple of feet, his stamina beginning to win out over Taylor's speed.

No headache-inducing chord combinations, no coercion, no guns. It was the best fun he'd had in ages.

Roberta had climbed up into one of the oak trees Josh was drawing, and so she was the first one to spot Yassen approaching.

* * *

Yassen had been awake since the small hours, scanning over the maps he'd recovered the previous day, noting down theories, comparing data. But in truth, though the calm and focussed approach he had cultivated over the last twenty years made him appear good at it, this kind of detective work made him feel both frustrated and tense. He preferred action, the following of structured, definite plans, the quick-fire decision-making of combat. And so when amber light began to slant through his bedroom window, he couldn't resist taking a break to blow away the cobwebs. It wouldn't be an indulgence; he had worked well for the last few hours, and breaks were necessary for focus.

He ignored the door and worked his way carefully out of the window, balancing on the sill and then jumping so as to land on his side in the garden, body-weight evenly distributed. He vaulted the lane into the fence and landed sprinting, racing for a few hundred yards before settling into a brisk, swinging walk. The air was crisp and cold; sound travelled for miles, and he heard a loud, teenage voice shout:

'Car!'

So he wasn't alone in the lane. Rounding a corner, he saw four silhouettes scattered loosely around the road. Clara to one side, Jane to the other, the shortest figure with the outline of her head softened by her curly hair, Alex and Taylor further out but rapidly approaching, slouching and poking one another like typical teenage boys. But where were the other two? As the group spotted him and Alex broke into a run to reach them first, Yassen realised that Joshua was actually lying in the middle of the road. Instinctively he quickened his pace, spurred on by a moment of frank curiosity, but before he could move more than a step a voice above him called:

'Oy!'

He looked up. There was a figure in the branches of the tree, barely discernable against the sun. He waited, and a curtain of pink and black hair tumbled into his field of vision as Roberta dropped backwards off her branch and hung by her hooked knees, meeting his eyes with a hard and insolent stare.

'Good morning, Roberta,' he said coolly. She slowly cocked one eyebrow, the single motion transforming her face into a mask of distain. There were dark ticks of eyeliner at the corners of her eyes, emphasising their almond shape. The effect was like war paint, designed to terrify, but also to conceal. To protect. A lesser man would have felt panic. Yassen observed only that she, like him, was masked, and that his mask was more efficient and less obtrusive. There was a vulnerable soul in there, ready to crumble. He matched her expression eyebrow for eyebrow, feeling a controlled trickle of amusement as he did so.

'You again?' she demanded grumpily, swinging slightly back and forth.

Yassen ignored her. 'What are you doing?' he called past her to Josh, determined to satisfy his curiosity. Josh raised an arm, waving his canvas vaguely in the air by way of answer, then settled it back on his knees and continued his work. Yassen watched for a moment, and then Roberta drew his attention again by cursing sharply. She had tried to twist round to watch Josh and nearly fallen out of the tree.

'You _let_ him do that?' he asked.

'Hardly,' she replied, still slightly breathless from her slip, but rapidly pulling herself back together. She gave a sharp jerk, stomach muscles contracting to haul her upper body up, gripped the branch firmly and unhooked her legs swinging herself down and dropping to the ground in front of him. 'But he'd do it anyway and it's safer if we help.'

As if to prove her point, Jane shouted:

'Car!'

'Oh for God's sake, I'm losing my light,' Josh grumbled, hauling himself to his feet and scooping up his canvas and water-colours. 'Oh, hi Yassen.'

Yassen inclined his head. Roberta's aggression or Josh's bravado, neither of them were going to faze him.

'I did some more work on those sketches last night.' Josh no longer seemed worried about losing his light. 'We can look through them later.'

'Why? I am no artist.'

'You need the feedback of the person you're trying to capture; it's helpful. If they disconcert you I'll know my work is done.'

'Yassen is_ never_ disconcerted.'

The three of them looked round and saw that Alex and Taylor had joined them. Clara and Jane were also listening, but looked unwilling to get too close. It was Alex who had spoken. Yassen couldn't tell exactly what he was trying to imply with his statement, but it was probably meant bitterly.

'Nuh-uh,' Josh said, shaking his head. '_I'm _the one who never gets disconcerted, 'cause I let the world bounce off me. You build yourself a wall, that's asking for someone to come and smash it down. Berlin, anybody?'

Taylor and Roberta were wearing long-suffering expressions. Clara was nodding in agreement. Alex watched Josh from under his fringe and then flicked his eyes sideways to glare at Yassen.

'Behold my mighty crowbar,' Josh added, raising his lead pencil. He addressed his next statement directly to Yassen. 'You've got to accept that you're not invulnerable, and then when something comes along to prove it it doesn't surprise you.' He tucked his canvas under his arm and began to walk backwards along the lane. He spread his hands wide.

'That's the wisdom of the street, guys.'

'What about your light?' Clara demanded.

'I can fill it in later. Got the outlines down. Chocolate-box coursework. At least the branches were nice to look at. Cool structure. Hmm.' His eyes flicked briefly over Yassen's face, and then he turned round and began to walk properly. There seemed to be a general consensus back home, so, almost automatically, Yassen fell in with them.

* * *

'So you told him everything.'

'Not exactly, Mrs Rothman. I told him a very little...'

'And he saw more. Guessed the rest. What you are forgetting, Ash, is that three quarters of any assignment takes place in the mind. You set too much store by physical prowess; you forgot that Gregorovich's mentality is that of the finest of assassins, however inferior his body may be to yours. You were overconfident. You told him our most secret plans, and then you let him slip through your fingers.'

'My apologies.'

There was just the faintest bite in his tone as he said that. Not quite sarcasm, not quite aggression, but the apology was...minimal, to say the least. Looking up, she was reminded that the creature who stood in front of her was no mere pliable agent, his mind susceptible to all the ways she could bend it with words, but a cold, analytical being with little fear, less mercy and the ability to crush her skull in his fist.

If she were not careful, this weapon could spin very rapidly out of control – but no. Whatever had been done to him, however he had changed, underneath he was still just Ash. He might possess overlaid speed, fabricated logic, but her mind, like Yassen's, was all her own. She was Scorpia's leader, its master, its cold, unrelenting heart. He would bend to her will, just like every other agent she had encountered, on either side.

Except for...

_Rider. Both. _First father, then son, they kept cropping up, like bad pennies. No good to anyone, a danger to all.

'This may play out to our advantage,' she said softly, her face composed, a mask of poise and makeup. There were very slight creases at the corners of her mouth; foundation only clogged in them, so she had left them alone. 'I have a good idea of where Gregorovich might be.' The Rider boy, an elite SAS unit and that girl who could calmly de-fuse a bomb while performing...Julia Rothmans's lip curled as she remembered her. Yes, they would do very well for some improvised assistance, should the Russian's inquisitive side take over and inspire him to do a little digging round Ash's hints. 'There will be no need to go looking yet, however. If I have judged him correctly, he will be coming to us like a fly to honey before very much longer...he will want to find out more.'

'So that's it? We wait?' Ash said.

'Ash, you will get your chance at revenge,' Mrs Rothman said sleekly. 'Why waste resources and attract attention tearing up the Essex countryside when Gregorovich positively _intends_ to come to us. He will want to learn the truth. He will come, and we will be waiting.'

'Very good.' Ash bowed his head slightly and turned to leave.

'Oh, and Ash?' she called as he reached for the door handle.

'Yes, Mrs Rothman?'

'Don't underestimate him again, will you now?'

Ash did not reply to the statement. He pulled open the door and disappeared, along the corridor and out of sight.

* * *

That evening, while Roberta strummed softly on her guitar in the soft-lit living room, Yassen and Josh did look over the pictures. Yassen saw himself from all angles, sometimes stylised, sometimes captured as though on camera, and it was disconcerting. Also, he was beginning to suspect that Josh's calm was more than mere bravado. He was more frightened than he let on, certainly, but this art...

It seemed rooted in genuine interest, rather than a desire to appear unafraid. There was nothing affected in the relaxed delivery of his blunt sentences. His mask was not being penetrated. Instead it was being turned this way and that, examined from all sides, being searched, not for weaknesses, but for the stuff it was made of. Of course there were no chinks in his armour that this boy could exploit, but all the same, such close scrutiny was uncomfortable.

The artworks were excellent. Disconcerting, indeed.

**A/N: And we finish with a rushed and cryptic ramble as I once again attempt to update before bedtime. I'm doing a couple of chapters of Yassen getting to know the band. Next one will, I hope, have a bit more meaningful interaction. I'm curious. Does anyone have a prediction about this fic? Anyone, anything at all?**

***Wanders off feeling more masterful than the situation warrents***


	23. Chapter 22: Snowballs

**Snowballs**

**A/N: Once again, you have Tokyo Mew Mew and laziness to blame. And, of course, me. There's no excuse, really, for the amount of time I've made you wait, or the uselessness of the last two chapters. Actually, there is a slight excuse for the uselessness: I was trying to reassure you all that I hadn't died by getting something up.**

**But anyway, inspiration FINALLY struck part-way through this, so it should be a slightly more satisfying chapter. It has action and a bit more meaningful interaction than the previous few instalments, so enjoy!**

'It's snowing,' Josh said to Alex, nodding out of the window. 'I told you so.'

'Oh, shut up,' Alex replied, kicking Josh's chair. Josh said nothing, just gave one of his wry smiles and settled himself more comfortably, hands curled around his mug of hot chocolate.

It was nine thirty in the morning and they had convened, as they had been doing since Yassen showed up, around Clara's dining table. They weren't doing much, just sipping coffee or hot chocolate, wrangling companionably and watching the early snow swirl past the window. Despite Alex's assertion that it was too clear for snow, Josh's prediction had come to pass, and in a rare moment of high spirits he was refusing to let the former forget it.

'There goes global warming,' Jane remarked.

'Nah, it's caused by storm clouds getting caught in the Alps due to warm winds from the melting ice caps pushing them in the wrong direction and the Gulf Stream changing course and all that,' said Clara.

'Gulf Stream, granted, but if the storm clouds are getting caught in the Alps then why's it snowing here?'

'Don't ask me. Maybe it's blowing across?' Clara grinned a bit, her eyes straying to the window to gaze dreamily out at the snow.

'Speaking of snow, you guys don't have to keep hauling yourselves over here in it,' Alex said. Briefly he wondered how much inconvenience it was causing Josh, Roberta, Taylor and Jane to come and be with him and Clara in their hour of need.

'We don't mind,' was all Taylor said.

'Sure, but I was thinking.' Alex leaned forwards and clasped his hands on the table in a 'proposal' posture. 'If you're going to keep spending every day here, how about you and Josh stay at my house and you girls stay at Clara's? It's the school holidays, after all.'

'What, sleep in the same house as the Russian maniac?' Taylor said. 'And...K Unit?'

'I'm not saying it's restful, bruv, but you get used to it.'

'It doesn't sound exactly comfortable...' Taylor mused, 'but then neither is cycling though a blizzard.'

'Stick around, you guys,' Clara invited. 'To be honest, I feel a whole lot better when you're here.'

'Well,' Josh said, 'perhaps we will. Yeah. Yeah, the idea has merit.'

They lapsed back into silence for a minute.

'I'm bored,' Roberta declared.

'What, with five grown fish on the place?' Clara asked in mock surprise.

'Shut up. But we haven't played together in ages. You and Jane had your jam with the Russian maniac; I've barely had a chance to touch my guitar these last few days.'

'Mmm, jam,' Clara murmured.

'Stick to the point and don't make puns. Let's move out, head for the garage. I want to have a go at the guitar solo in 'Sweet Child o' Mine.'

' "Sweet Child o' Mine?" ' Alex echoed. 'What's that?'

'It falls under the 'crap 70s rock' section of Clara's i-pod.'

'Oh.' Alex paused, then nodded slowly. 'I see.'

* * *

'Where is Alex?' Yassen asked, when he entered the dining room of their house to find only K Unit sitting there.

'He went out,' Wolf answered in tones of deep suspicion. Yassen, turning his head away, allowed himself a brief smile.

'To Clara's house?'

'Nah, they were talking about heading to the garage,' Eagle told him, ignoring a glare from his leader. 'The garage of that kid Josh's place,' he clarified. 'Scary, that hid.'

Wolf gave a sarcastic snigger. 'You find _him _scary?'

'Yeah, I do. In a way.'

'You need to sort out your priorities, man,' Wolf said, shaking his head.

Yassen stood.

'Where are you going?' Wolf demanded, leaping instantly to his feet as well. Yassen eyed him coolly.

'I thought I would walk to the garage in order to, as the English have it, _blow away the cobwebs_,' he replied.

'Hey, Wolf,' the soldier called Fox cut in, touching Wolf's elbow from where he sat, 'it's OK. We were going to go for a run, remember? There's a route to the garage across country; how about we all go?' He looked to Yassen as he finished, his eyes questioning.

Yassen confirmed that the arrangement would be acceptable.

'I doubt Cub will be too highly delighted by us all showing up,' Fox said, getting to his feet and stretching, 'but there it is. C'mon, troops, let's move out.'

Wolf put a leg across the door as Fox reached it.

'_Who_ gives the orders around here, Foxy-boy?'

Fox grinned broadly.

'You do, oh mighty leader.'

'Then fall in,' Wolf said, gesturing to the back of the group. 'All follow me, stay together, no straggling.'

They set off down the lane behind the house, cutting through the hedge and into the first of the patchwork of fields that surrounded the area. The snow was falling thickly now, already rising to obscure the tips of the grass. Yassen ran steadily at the back of the group, ignoring them as steadfastly and more successfully than they were ignoring him, focussing instead on the gently swirling flakes and the silence that their pounding footsteps failed to fill.

After about three miles steady running, still a walk in the park for the Russian despite his injury, they came out onto a large football field, on the other side of which was a row of houses, and beyond them a road. Yassen had been here before. He remembered setting a bomb in the garage with Ash, then disappearing into the same brush he and K unit were now emerging from, and watching as Taylor ran across the field to an icecream van and was jumped by a group of boys.

He followed K Unit across the grass to the garage, which was attached to a row of houses that backed onto the park. Wolf approached the door of the tall concrete building, hesitated, then shrugged and knocked.

There was the sound of bolts being drawn back, and then the door opened to reveal Josh. He didn't look at all dismayed to see them; on the contrary, his face lit up in a small way.

'Oh, hi,' he said. 'C'mon in.' As K Unit trooped into the garage, they revealed Yassen standing behind them.

'Come on,' Josh repeated, jerking his head. Yassen stepped slowly forward and into the garage.

The evidence of music having been played was all around them: a saxophone with its various bits of tubing assembled, instrument cases open, guitar amps still hissing. However, it seemed that the Non-Conformists had found something else to amuse them. They had cleared a large space in the centre of the garage, and Alex and Roberta were standing in the middle of it, clearly sparring. As he watched Alex circled round and struck upwards with his heel, a deliberately slow kick which Roberta neatly dodged. Hopping on one leg, Alex walked her through a counter-attack, showing her how to grab his heel and twist him off-balance. As he noticed their arrival the two of them stilled and turned. Two pairs of dark, accusing eyes pinned Yassen down. He was sure that they were remembering the last time he and they had been together in this garage, when Julia Rothman had ordered their deaths and then decided to wait for the concert instead. Their stares prickling on the back of his neck, Yassen turned to look down the length of the garage, to the wall that was painted to look like an extension of the room. So well painted, in fact, that he'd run straight into it. A reddish-brown smear at about head-height caught his eye.

'Oh yeah,' Josh said, following his gaze, 'I was quite pleased with how well that one turned out.'

Yassen inclined his head very slowly.

'I left the blood on the wall as a warning to others,' Josh added. This did not improve the atmosphere.

'Ahem!' Wolf coughed awkwardly. 'Uh, did you do all these, Josh?'

Josh, all amiability now gone, gave him his most emo-ish look.

'Yeah, uh...wow.'

They were interrupted by a grunt from Alex as Roberta succeeded in driving the heel of her palm into his chest.

'Good,' he panted, rubbing his bruised breastbone, 'good. But you need to aim lower next time. Not in _that_ way,' he added impatiently as Roberta stifled a snigger. 'The chest is protected by breastbone and ribcage. You're more likely to bruise your hand than anything else. Now try aiming for my belly. Of course, the disadvantage of that is that you have to stoop to reach. Bend your knees, not your back.'

'She might do better to kick in this case,' Yassen put in. 'It's too low a target for her to comfortably reach with her hand.'

'You think you can get your leg up that high?' Alex asked.

'I can try.' Roberta spun on one heel and lashed out with her left foot, catching Alex squarely in the stomach.

'Ow!' he yelled, doubling over. 'This is a _practise _bout, woman!'

'You were a little unbalanced on the finish,' Yassen pointed out. 'Bend your right knee to steady yourself.'

Roberta nodded slightly. Alex gave an irritable twitch of his shoulders and assumed another combat stance, circling slowly to the left. Suddenly he lunged forward, letting loose a flurry of blows which Roberta scarcely managed to dodge.

'Have you taught her how to unbalance an opponent?' Yassen called. 'It's a useful technique when –'

'Look, who's teaching this lesson, me or you?' Alex demanded, whirling round to face him.

'Awww, come on, Alex,' Roberta said, while Alex glowered. 'Let him join in if he wants to.'

'Right,' Alex growled. 'Roberta says I should let you join in.' His shoulders slowly lost their mutinous hunch, straightening out. 'You want to try a bout?'

'No thank you,' Yassen replied over the loud 'ooooohhhhh!' from K unit.

'Why not?' Alex asked. 'Afraid you'll lose?'

'If that's what you're worried about,' Roberta chimed in over K Unit's sniggers, 'try a bout with me.'

Yassen turned to address her directly. 'I don't think that would be a good idea.'

'Why not?' Roberta tilted her chin, raising one eyebrow. 'Afraid you'll like it?'

Once corner of Yassen's mouth pulled up in quiet humour. 'Afraid? Not at all,' he replied, and began to unbutton his coat.

Alex was glaring. 'Be careful how you throw your punches,' he muttered warningly, before stalking off to join his friends leaning against the wall of the garage. Yassen hung his coat over one of the many spiky pieces of musical equipment that cluttered the room and rolled his shoulders a few times, stretching. Then, feeling sufficiently warmed up from his run, he stepped forward to join Roberta in the middle of the garage.

She had assumed a neutral fighting stance, and it was clear to Yassen that Alex had been teaching her for a while. She might be a good fighter one day, though she had started late. Yassen approached, slipping into combat stance as he moved, beginning to circle. Roberta mirrored his movements, then dashed forwards and attacked.

Yassen was taken by surprise. He hadn't expected her to take the initiative. But he blocked her first blow easily enough, dodged her second and then landed a square hit in her ribs. She stumbled and retreated, resuming her waiting stance. He hadn't hit her hard enough to do any damage, but he'd made her cautious. That was good.

He threw a punch, and she managed to get her hand around his wrist. He could have ripped free if he'd wanted to, but her technique was sound so he allowed her to twist his hand away and aim a strike at his abdomen.

A strike he would have blocked, if he had realised exactly how hard she was going to hit him.

He doubled over with the force of the blow, not completely but still more than he would have liked, and as he caught his breath she landed a stinging punch on the side of his head.

Applause clattered in the echoing space. Yassen's head was ringing slightly from the hit, but he could still think clearly enough. Plainly it was time to up his game.

He took a step back, slightly hunched as though wary, and then lashed out suddenly with both fists. The blow failed to connect, as he had intended it to, but it had served its purpose: Roberta had flailed backwards to avoid it and was now caught off balance. He made a scything motion with one hand, clipping her on the jaw. She backed up further, the first flickers of fear igniting in her eyes, and flung a wild punch. He caught her arm and twisted it behind her back, and suddenly they were face to face, almost touching. Roberta's teeth were bared in a snarl of pain – but still plenty of fight – as she bent backwards, instinctively trying to relieve the pressure on her arm.

'Your hands are trapped,' he said. 'What are you going to do next?'

Roberta rammed her knee savagely towards his groin.

Yassen's free hand slammed into the top of her leg, blocking the attack.

'You're off balance,' he replied. His hand shifted, gripping under her knee, and he spun her round and flung her hard to the floor.

She lay very still for a moment or two, and Yassen, feeling his hand burn where the coarse denim of her jeans had scraped the skin, wondered if he might have overdone it. But then Roberta gave a groan and shifted slowly onto her elbows, grimacing as she moved.

'Rob, are you _okay?' _Clara called, sounding genuinely alarmed.

'Ow.' Roberta planted a hand on the garage floor and sat up slowly. '_Wow. Ow!'_

'How do you feel?' Alex asked.

'Mph.' Roberta got slowly to her knees and then to her feet, flexing her arms experimentally. 'A bit achy...'

'When I felt achy after training my instructor used to send me to run ten times around the perimeter of the compound,' Yassen told her.

'Did he really?' Roberta asked tightly, twisting her arm to examine her left elbow, which was sporting a nasty graze from the rough concrete. 'Well, he sounds like a lovely man.'

Yassen saw Alex grimace slightly, whether at Roberta's injuries or the reference to his father, he didn't know.

'Ouch,' Roberta muttered again, reaching for her guitar and playing a few chords. 'Great, I can still strum.' She looked back to Yassen. 'Lucky for you I didn't graze my hands.'

Wolf snorted loudly. 'What would _you_ do to him?' he asked Roberta.

'You'll sleep better not knowing,' she said darkly. 'Sun's shining outside. Shall we walk back?'

'We are going to talk,' Alex muttered, grabbing her wrist and dragging her towards the door before the others could properly react to her suggestion. Alex heard the sounds of them shifting round, gradually getting themselves together to leave as he pulled Roberta out into the snow.

'Look,' he said as soon as they were out of earshot, 'I know it turned out OK, but just – for my sake – could you _not _challenge Yassen to any more death duels, please? It makes me uncomfortable.'

'You worry too much.'

'_I _worry too much?' Alex spluttered incredulously. 'Roberta, I – do you even _get_ who he is?'

'Sure I do,' Rob replied, 'but I have a theory.'

Alex petitioned God.

'Well, it's Clara's theory, really,' Roberta continued, 'or at least, she helped me to get it figured out in words. It hinges, she says, on the assumption that Yassen is a rational being.'

'A rational assassin,' Alex said, grinding his teeth. 'Oh, this is brilliant.'

'Well, he prides himself on his rationality, anyway. So the point is, if he wanted to kill any one of us, he would do it, and we couldn't stop him.'

'Too right you couldn't. But I'd have to try; I hope you appreciate that, Roberta.'

'Don't call me that. It's teacherish. If he had a reason to kill us, he would, but if he's decided not to kill us, annoying him is not going to change his mind. So we might as well annoy him as much as we like while we've got the chance.'

Alex was shaking his head slowly, half-laughing as he did so.

'Says Clara,' Roberta added hastily.

'Sometimes I despair of Clara.'

'Hmmm.' Roberta stooped, scooped up a handful of snow and squished it into a ball. 'Shall we test her theory?'

Alex stopped dead. 'What are you going to do?' he demanded.

'Put snow down his neck.'

'What, just assuming that he won't kill you for it?'

A snowball whizzed past Roberta's ear and exploded against a tree-trunk ahead of them.

'She is right,' Yassen called. 'I won't. However, I can pay her back in kind.'

He held Roberta's eye for a moment and then smiled: a sweet, boyish smile that was as startling as the blue in his eyes. Roberta felt herself grin in response, suddenly and inexplicably cheerful.

'Shall we call it even?' Yassen asked, stepping forward.

'How is it even? You beat me _and _threw a snowball at me.'

'Maybe, but I think your blow will bruise. It's even.'

'Oh, just stop it, both of you!' Alex cried, a touch of desperation in his tone.

'OK, we've stopped,' Roberta soothed, a touch of laughter in her tone. Then she lowered her voice. 'In the mean time, I see a smug K Unit approaching, and a bunch of our friends. How about we give them a surprise?'

She dropped to her knees and began to scoop up another snowball. Yassen and Alex followed suit, Alex still muttering darkly under his breath, Yassen smiling faintly. Roberta watched how Yassen shaped his snowball, perfectly round and crushed to the hardness of ice. She was glad he'd aimed a little to one side of her head with his last one. She deliberately packed hers a little looser, but tried to copy the spherical shape.

'We strike,' Alex whispered, 'in three – two – one –'

The others appeared through the trees, K Unit in the lead, talking loudly. Alex, Yassen and Rob let fly with their snowballs.

There was a chorus of indignant splutters as the snowballs hit Clara, Eagle and Wolf squarely, spraying the others with broken pieces. Alex stood in plain sight for a moment, laughing uncontrollably at the looks of sheer disbelief on his friends' faces. Then Wolf gave a bellow of rage, Roberta tugged frantically on his sleeve, and the three of them were running.

'Oh, great idea, Rob!' Alex yelled as noises of pursuit started and grew behind them. 'Looks like we've got the whole lot of them crying for our blood!'

A snowball whizzed over their heads. Yassen put on an extra spurt of speed, disappearing through the brush that separated the park from the fields on the other side. Roberta and Alex crashed after him. They found themselves amid the rolling expanse of fields which could be seen from the back of Clara's house and which extended all the way from there to Josh's, criss-crossed with country lanes, hedges and ditches. All of it was white and glittering with snow. Alex was forced to slow up as he came to the crest of a downward slope, and before he could start down it someone slammed into him from behind.

'Gotcha, bruv!' Taylor crowed. Alex cursed in his head; he had forgotten how fast the other boy was over a short distance. His speed toppled them both, the slippery snow offering no purchase to their trainers. Out of the tail of his eye Alex saw Yassen and Roberta skittering to a halt, nearly crashing into one another as he fell across their path. Then he started to roll.

By the time he reached the bottom he was lightheaded, giddy and plastered with snow. He leapt to his feet and nearly fell over again as the world lurched. Everything was sparkling. There was too much light. Alex saw Taylor tumble the last few feet and come to a halt a short distance from where he himself had landed, having apparently let himself roll all the way down on purpose.

'Sorry about that, Alex,' he called, getting up as well. 'Hey, that was fun. Let's do it again!'

'No time!' Roberta yelled. 'The others are going to catch us in, like, thirty seconds.'

'Drats,' Taylor said, dusting himself off. 'Hey guys, can I join your team. It might even up the numbers a bit.'

'A bit,' Roberta said, looking him up and down. As she spoke Yassen waved his arm, gesturing to them to join him. He was crouched on his hands and knees near the top of the slope, peering over the brow.

'They won't see us until the last moment,' he muttered quickly as they joined him. 'When they get close I can spring out and take them by surprise. Make some more snowballs; get ready to cover me.'

'What is this, a tactical defence exercise?' Taylor asked, already rolling snow.

Yassen looked at him sidelong. 'If you like.'

There was a pounding of footsteps on the snow above him, and Yassen struck.

With one powerful thrust of his legs he was over the lip of the hill, colliding with Wolf, who was at the head of the pursuit. The two of them went crashing to the ground with Wolf underneath. The soldier brought his knees up to his chest and snapped them back out, flinging the Russian off him. Yassen rolled and sprang lightly to his feet.

Wolf jumped up with a fierce laugh and charged at him, forcing Yassen to spring aside. Alex crouched at the mouth of the hill, staring transfixed at the two men. He had watched Yassen shoot and knew full well how dangerous he was, but for all that he had never seen the Russian in action before, face to face with a skilled opponent. He watched, mesmerised, as Yassen blocked a blow from the Wolf and then executed the move they had taught to Roberta just minutes ago, his leg shooting up with all the flexibility of a ballet dancers. But there was a dozen times more power in that kick than there had been in Roberta's, or in the motions of any dancer. It was a blow that could take off a person's head.

He heard gasps and even applause from the other watchers as Wolf dodged the attack and then landed a punch of his own: a glancing blow to the Russian's shoulder. Yassen backed up, moving so lightly that Alex was astonished to see his feet mark the snow. Opposite him Wolf's coiled muscles held all the power of a raging bull.

'Stop!' Clara cried.

Alex hadn't noticed the fight turn ugly, but suddenly it was. Clara was running towards the two fighters now, and even she couldn't have realised how dangerous the situation had become, otherwise she wouldn't have been moving to intervene. She would have been fleeing in the other direction. Wolf charged Yassen again, his eyes full of fire. Yassen grabbed his wrist but Wolf lashed out with his other hand, striking the assassin directly over his bullet wound.

Yassen seemed momentarily to crumple, his face turning grey. Wolf danced backwards out of range, his teeth bared. Yassen straightened himself with a gasp, and for an instant Alex saw murder flashing in his eyes. Then Clara was between them, a hand stretched towards each. Her reproving frown was enough to restore some sanity to the scene, and to mask the brighter fear etched on her face.

'Alright, guys, that's enough,' she said, and that did the rest. The moment was broken. The two men relaxed.

'Yeah, that's enough.' Alex found that his legs had carried him forward without conscious decision. He echoed Clara, pushing between Yassen and Wolf as he did so, eager to dilute their focus on Clara. This was still too tense a scene for her to be in the middle of it, and he nudged her gently away with one hand as he spoke.

Yassen drew a long breath, then spoke to Wolf. 'I think I came a little close with that kick,' he remarked, his voice growing more casual with each word.

Wolf hesitated for a moment, drawing a hand slowly across his mouth, and then gave a sudden burst of laugher.

'A little close,' he agreed. He reached down to rub his side where Yassen had first crashed into him. 'Man, that smarts. You can hit hard, Gregorovich.'

Alex fancied he heard the whoosh as every person watching let out their breath. There was the crunch of footsteps as their circle collapsed in on itself, all of them crowding into the middle where the fight had taken place, blinking, tasting the adrenaline fresh on the air. Alex saw Taylor shake his head with a half-laugh, and Josh standing, still unperturbed but mildly interested, in the background.

'Come on, people,' Eagle said, stepping forward and laying one hand on Wolf's shoulder and the other on Yassen's. Alex saw the Russian flinch infinitesimally away from the touch. 'If we can get home without any fatalities we'll count the day a success, yes?'

The statement sparked general amusement, with even Yassen forcing a laugh, and the group turned and began to make its way home.

* * *

It was only lunchtime when they trooped into Clara's living room, but Alex already felt as though a whole day had passed. It was partly the walk, of course: three miles across country from Josh's house to Clara's, but he knew that it was also the tension getting to him. A rush of adrenaline always left one feeling tired. He flung himself down into an armchair as the others crowded in, breathing heavily and shaking the snow out of their clothes.

Yassen disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, and Clara knelt and began rummaging in a cupboard.

'So if you guys are staying over,' she called, her voice slightly muffled due to the fact that her head was sticking into the storage space, 'I'll need to put out some air beds...Alex, do you have any bedding for the boys over at your place?'

'We've got two couches in the living room, they can sleep on those.' Alex turned and cast a speculative eye over Taylor. 'Might be a bit short...'

'Kick someone who's not so tall out of their bed and let him have in.'

'Oh, no,' Fox said, poking Clara to make her come out of the cupboard and listen. 'I am _not _sleeping on a couch. My colleagues and I are here for your protection and it's essential that we're well-rested.'

Clara tutted loudly. 'Oh sure, my protection. Well, you're not doing a terribly good job of it, are you?' She gestured towards Yassen, who had just re-emerged holding a glass. 'I mean, he wanders into the kitchen and makes himself coffee!'

'Orange juice, actually,' Yassen corrected, showing her the glass. 'I try to avoid consuming caffeine.'

Clara rolled her eyes. 'Why am I not surprised?'

'Clara, don't be mean to Fox _or _Yassen,' Alex said, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her away from Yassen. He turned and addressed the Russian himself. 'If you don't mind my asking, what's with your freakily good mood today? Apart from the whole nearly killing Wolf thing, of course.'

'Which could just be taken for a sign of high spirits, really,' Eagle quipped, earning himself a kick from Wolf. How quickly they had all made themselves forget the tension of the moment, Alex reflected, that they were so comfortable now!

'I am close to a breakthrough with my research on Scorpia,' Yassen answered. 'I think I may have a lead; I believe I have discovered where Scorpia has its neurological research facility, and if I can pin down the location, I can find out what I need to know there.'

The speech was delivered blandly enough, so why did it bring on a rush of emotions which he didn't understand? Was he simply glad that the Russian might soon be off their hands, disappearing back into his world on his shady quest for answers. No, this wasn't relief. But he must play his part.

'So I'm guessing you won't be bothering us for much longer then,' he said coolly.

Yassen's face was inscrutable. 'I will be leaving as soon as I have the information I need,' he said.

'Well,' Wolf remarked, 'that's efficiency! What do you think you need to do next? Or is that top secret?' Yassen turned with an enigmatic answer and the others leaned in, tuning into the conversation which had begun to grow. Alex frowned at the atmosphere of the room. Nobody had wished Yassen luck, but somehow it felt as though that was what they were doing. He turned away, glancing across the room, and saw that one person was not joining in the conversation. Roberta was sitting , her chin on one hand, the other curled loosely round the neck of her guitar. Her fingers shifted on the strings, forming the ghosts of chords. Her eyes were cast down, unblinking, deep in thought, and her expression disturbed Alex. He fancied he understood a little of what she was feeling.

He should have been glad that Yassen was leaving. So why did it feel, in a small way, as though he were losing his father for a second time?

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Christmas, and to the week of snow we've just experienced at my end – the first snow I've seen settle before Christmas, and the longest period of snowy weather I've ever experienced in Britain. The bunny, however, was conceived during the snowfalls of early last spring. Shocking, I know. Anyway, Merry Christmas, y'all!**

**True XXX**

**PS: Did anyone see Avatar? The scenery was pretty awesome, n'est pas? Check out my sister Essence of Gold's profile for our list of Ways to Annoy the Na'vi!**

**Rider Girl9: **I seem to remember you have a penname now? Anyway, thanks!

**Hilo: **Yes, I am a keen musician, no, I don't watch criminal minds. Thanks for the review!


	24. Chapter 23: Moonlight

**Chapter 23: Moonlight**

**A/N: OK, so this is the part where I go all soppy on you, I'm afraid. Look at what the Tokyo Mew Mew fandom's done to me...though actually I wrote this stuff ages ago, before I'd even heard of Tokyo Mew Mew. In fact, so long ago that it's not in my current Book of Too Many Words (where I write all my fanfiction ideas), but in my old one. I guess I'll have to go back upstairs for it.**

Yassen woke sharply and silently. It was as though a little bell had chimed inside his head, prodding him into consciousness. For a moment he lay still, listening intently, trying to ascertain whether it was any danger that had woken him, or whether it was just his restless instincts telling him that five hours was plenty of sleep. When his ears met nothing but silence he rose and walked to the window, pulling back the drapes with a sharp rattle or curtain rings.

The English fields stretched away to the horizon, smoothed and softened with snow. A full moon was sailing in the sky, turning its velvety blackness to navy, bright enough to hurt the eyes. The snow caught every ray of light that hit it and reflected it back up, so that the ground glimmered dully. The whole landscape was reduced to monochrome, tiger-striped black and silver.

The scene made him even more restless than before. Every night in this house he had gone to sleep late and woken early, and been unable to do more than listen to classical music on his i-pod or do very quiet push-ups to fill the time. But now he determined that he _would_ get out of the house. He hesitated, his senses tasting the atmosphere. He fancied that he could even hear the breathing of the two boys, Josh and Taylor, sleeping on the sofa downstairs, and for a moment a novel idea came to him: he might go and wake Josh and suggest that he sketch the view. But Yassen quashed it. His feet were tingling, his breath speeding up. He wanted to be out in the snow, not to share it with anyone. Now, how to get out of the house, past those blundering soldiers.

He glided to his door and pulled it shut, sealing his room from the outside world. Then he opened the window. Cold air and the sound of the night rushed in. He grasped the frame and eased himself out, feet first, crouching on the sill and pulling it almost closed behind him. Then he lowered himself until he was hanging from the sill by his fingertips, and let go.

He landed the ground on his side, spreading the impact over his body. The snow muffled his landing perfectly. It was still soft and fresh, a fine, dry powder that sprayed up at the impact. He sprang up, only a little winded, and began to jump up and down to shake it off, wondering belatedly how he was going to get back into the house. Walk up to the front door and knock, probably, which meant that K Unit would find out after all. But no matter. By then Yassen would have had his walk in the snow.

Walk? Why not make it a run?

He stepped away from the side of the house, turning a full circle as he moved, face tilted up to the sky. Stars bloomed on the edge of his vision, then shrank into bright pricks of silver when he focussed his eyes on them. He sky was almost perfectly clear, just a few greenish wisps of cloud drifting across the face of the moon. Yassen sucked in a blazing cold breath, balanced for a moment on the balls of his feet, and began to run.

He cleared the back fence in one bound and struck out into the first field, scuds of snow kicking up at his heels. The ground beneath was ploughed, uneven, but he negotiated it without pause, his breath flowing steadily in and out. Fixing his eyes ahead, he saw the first field boundary already hurtling towards him: a shallow ditch, freckled with exposed earth. He took a flying leap and jumped it easily, skidding a little on the landing but recovering without breaking stride. The landscape all around him was flat, white, endless. Anyone taking a shot at his black, exposed figure, clear-cut against the snow, would have had an easy time of it, but he didn't care. The cold was setting his instincts spinning, honing his vision to razor sharpness, and besides, one couldn't worry about that sort of thing all the time. He threw back his head, letting the wind of his passage caress his cheeks. If you hid all the time in the shadows they started to cling to you. They made it difficult to breathe.

He came to a thick hedge, smothered in snow, and halted. There was a gate at the end of the field, but he noticed a gap in the branches right in front of him and dived through on his stomach. The bare earth beneath the hedge was frozen solid, and cold against his skin, but a core of heat from the run kept him warm on the inside. He dug his elbows into the ground, hauling himself forward until he could see out the other side.

The next field was not empty.

Lying completely still in the shadow of the hedge, Yassen held his breath, taking in the towering figure that threw a hard black shadow across the snow. But it was no enemy, no surgically enhanced Scorpia agent. He recognised the defensive, defiant stance, the statuesque figure and mane of dark hair. A slight breeze lifted it in tangled-together sections, and skimmed flecks of snow into his eyes. He ignored them, continuing to stare at the girl in the snow.

Roberta gave a deep sigh and pushed her hair off her face, turning her head a little so that he could see her profile, picked out and silvered by the moon. A profile to make Julia Rothman envious, indeed. But its owner looked vulnerable. She was shivering slightly, her head bowed, arms wrapped round herself. No coat. She shifted her weight, boots crunching in the snow.

Slowly Yassen rose to his hands and knees, then into a crouch, then to his feet. He took a noiseless step forward. He was on the leeward side of the hedge now, and the ground around him was bare; no grinding snow to give him away. Another step. Now he was standing clear of the shadow of the hedge, behind Roberta and a little to her right, the moon shining on them both. He took a step breath and placed one foot deliberately into the snow.

Roberta whirled around with a stifled shriek, her wide eyes finding him. But they were not only fearful. They lanced out like summer lightning, full of challenge. Challenging him to do what, Yassen wondered. Probably she hadn't thought it out properly, or even realised it was there. She was such a contentious girl. But spirited.

For a long moment she matched him, height for height and eye for eye, her face rigid with shock. Then Yassen held out a placating hand, circling slowly forward and around until he stood beside her, at an acceptable distance to her right. He turned, looking out over the landscape she had been perusing, and said:

'A beautiful night.'

She nodded awkwardly and faced out as well, but he could feel her eyes riveted sidelong on his face. She was still tense, like an animal poised to bolt.

'I think it was the moonlight that woke me,' he continued reassuringly. 'It is incredibly bright. And it seemed a shame to just go back to bed.

'Is Russia like this?' Roberta blurted suddenly, with the air of someone flailing for a topic of conversation. She looked mortified as soon as the words were out of her mouth, and Yassen blinked in well-concealed surprise. Was she really worried about upsetting him with questions of his childhood? His life just kept getting more surreal.

'Not very much like this,' he answered lightly. 'If I went out this thinly clad –' he gestured at his light shirt – 'I would freeze to death. The snow is deeper. But the sky is the same.'

'From what I've heard, the sky stays pretty similar all over.' She was getting a little of her gratuitous streak back, growing more confident. 'Except when there's clouds across it and stuff.'

'The sky is very clear in Russia.' Yassen gestured up at the sky, spangled with almost dazzling brightness. 'Like tonight. Normally, in England, one does not see so many stars.'

'Fog,' Roberta muttered. She drummed her fingers edgily against her thigh, shifting her weight from foot to foot. It was very seldom that she had to have a conversation with someone without a guitar across her lap, forming a barrier and a distraction. She glanced at Yassen, whose shirt clung to him a little and stopped well short of the elbow, and asked:

'Yassen, aren't you freezing? I mean –' She jerked her head back, tutting in exasperation. 'Not _freezing, _obviously, but aren't you very cold.

'It is colder in Russia,' Yassen replied, with a hint of amusement in his tone. 'We have been through this.

'Hmph. Still, below zero is below zero.' Roberta stooped for a handful of snow, squished it into a snowball and threw it over-arm. They watched it arc away down the hill and thud into the blanket of snow, leaving a scuff and a hole.

Roberta shrugged, thrust her hands into the pockets of her jeans and began to walk. Yassen fell into step beside her and offered her his arm. She gave him a look that said very clearly, '_okaaaaay?_' but tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow all the same. They paced in time with each other down the gentle slope of the field, their feet crunching rhythmically in the snow. Yassen was a fast walker, but Roberta's legs were so long that he didn't have to shorten his stride to match hers. He wondered what K unit would make of the double set of footprints in the morning.

'One doesn't usually see heavy snow before the end of the year,' he remarked.

'It's all because of global warming really,' Roberta said, scuffing up snow. They explain it in geography at school. Or at least, Clara says they explain it. I couldn't swear to it myself.' Yassen gave a faint grin at that. It was surprisingly easy to talk to him, all things considered. She examined his face closely as they walked, and he didn't seem to mind. A gust of wind puffed down her neck and she hunched her shoulders.

'Dammit, it's cold!'

'If you don't object, we could run,' Yassen suggested. 'That's how I kept warm on the way out.' He waited for her approval, and Roberta was sure, considering the whole arm-offering thing, that he would have offered her his coat had he been wearing one. It was all a bit much to get her head around.

'What is it?' he asked, seeing her expression.

'I was just contemplating the paradox of a chivalrous assassin.

He laughed at that and extricated his arm, catching hold of her hand. Then he sprang into a run, pulling her along with him.

Why hadn't she thought of running before? She had been brooding, that was what. But the freezing air whipping past her face and the boundless glitter of the landscape turned it to exhilaration, though time and again she nearly turned her ankle in the treacherous sod of the field. Yassen's hand was steady as a rock in hers, holding her upright at every bump. He was adjusting his speed to let her keep up, but she could see the power of his muscles, ready to drive him forward if he chose. After a couple of minutes she pulled her hand out of his and fell behind to watch him do just that.

Unchecked by her he bounded forwards, moving with an inherent, effortless grace. He seemed perfectly suited to the scene, like a snow leopard or a white tiger, lethal and in his element. She felt, not inferior exactly – she gave a slight grin, slowing to a jog. No, not inferior, but a little wrong-footed, a hotter, darker figure in his world of snow and ice. And yet...she also felt at ease. There was no need to feel ashamed or defensive in front of him; he had done worse things than her, after all, and couldn't care less what drugs she took.

Yassen reached a fallen log, with a couple of trees clustering behind it, and sprang easily over it, hardly altering his stride. She followed him, speeding up to make the jump, and then slowed to a walk on the other side.

Yassen turned back towards her and skittered to a halt, his breath clouding in the air. He waited while she walked towards him, then turned and made his way over to the tree their log had come from. Its branches were bare, but they'd left a couple of patches of ground bare of snow, and dry enough to sit on. Yassen settled himself with his back to the trunk, one leg bent and the other crossed beneath it, his elbow resting on his knee. It was a breathtaking pose. Roberta flopped down beside him and lay with her hands behind her head, bizarrely hot and cold from her run. Her jacket protected her from the worst of the snow, but she could feel it beginning to melt slowly into her jeans.

'Much warmer,' she panted, unzipping her jacket a little. Yassen didn't reply, but she sensed his smile. She craned her head around, ice crystals scraping her cheek, to look at him. Bathed in moonlight and threaded with the shadows of branches, his face took on an ethereal quality, eyes eider-grey, alabaster skin almost glowing. She blinked; the whiteness was playing tricks on her eyes, purple spots blooming in the darkness. She reached out and touched his cheek, trying to focus her eyes.

Yassen didn't move or speak. He stared unwaveringly at the snow around his feet as she ran her fingers down the side of his face, resting her knuckles under his jaw and tilting his head towards the light. But when the tip of one of her fingers touched his lip, he looked sharply into her eyes, because as far as he could remember the last creature that had touched him there had been a black widow spider.

A corner of his mind informed him that if he were following the correct protocol, he ought to give some kind of reaction now. How was she to know that he was examining her just as minutely as she was him, but that, being used to living cut off from the world, he didn't need to touch as she did? How was she to know that looking was enough?

Roberta sat up with an intake of breath and a rustle of fabric, her hand relaxing, forming to the side of his face. Her strong features cast deep pools of shadow on her face, and suddenly he realised that he didn't want the darkness in her mind to claim her. For himself he had no regrets, but for her...there was genius in the way her fingers ripped across that shrieking guitar of hers, churning out chords and de-fusing bombs. She was special, she could go far, but her brand of darkness was the kind that dragged downwards and destroyed.

_And your darkness didn't destroy you?_ a voice in his head inquired. _Are you really a fine-tuned predator, or are you just sad?_ The voice took on an adolescent twang at the end, sounding almost like Alex in one of his more teenager-ish moments.

'I don't know,' he murmured out loud.

'Huh?'

Yassen met Roberta's eyes. He took her hand and pried it gently away from his face. It was icy cold, so he folded it in both his own and rested them on his knee. She regarded the arrangement for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed him.

His lips were like snowflakes, but they didn't melt away at her touch. Theirs was a sterner cold than that, a deeper cold. Roberta shuddered, seized by a sudden and irrational panic. She wanted to reach inside him, to tear out his frozen heart and force it to beat again before it was too late, but all she could do was crush her mouth harder to his, grasping the back of his neck to bring him closer to the warmth she was trying to breath into him –

Yassen brought his arms up, breaking her hold with a single twist. His hand gripped her wrist for a moment, then let go.

_Don't grab him round the neck_, she thought dully. His eyes were like those of a hunted animal.

'Yassen, do you feel?' she asked in clinical tones. Her desperation was still fluttering around the edges of her mind; she had to find out the grim facts and shut it up as quickly as possible.

'Yes,' he answered.

'What do you feel for me?'

'Nothing.'

'Well, that's unusual for a guy,' she said wryly. 'You don't bat for the other side, do you?'

'You make the most basic assumptions,' he snapped.

'Sorry. I'm taking A level psychology, you see, so I'm naturally curious.' Her eyes slid down the side of his neck. 'Will you tell me how you got that scar?'

'No,' he said shortly. 'It's a long story and I'm cold.' He stood up with a quick thrust of his legs and paused, choosing his next words carefully. 'You should stay away from me.' The less infatuated she let herself become, the better for her.

'I was away from you,' she pointed out, standing up as well. 'I was out of the house, I was as far away from you as I could get.'

'True.' He sucked his cheeks in thoughtfully, then looked her straight in the eye. 'I'm not looking for love, Roberta, and I'm not looking for sex either.'

As he spoke the last words he saw her blanch for an instant before she masked it with fury. So he had struck a nerve.

Good.

She turned away from him, dry-eyed and erect, and began to walk back towards the house, too proud and too realistic to try to out-pace him at a run. He gave her a head start and then followed, placing his feet exactly into her footprints to slow himself down further.

When he arrived back on the street Clara's house was as silent and still as if nobody had ever left it. He stared up at K unit's house, wondering exactly how to set about getting back in, when to his surprise the door swung open.

'Yassen!'

He heard Taylor's voice hissing across the lawn to him, and saw the flicker of a beckoning arm. Quickly he ran up the drive and slid through the door which the boy was holding ajar. Taylor shut it quickly behind him and asked:

'So where've you –'

'Shh!' Yassen whispered, holding a finger to his lips. 'The walls have ears.' He was, of course, referring to K unit. Taylor grinned and murmured;

'Were you out with Rob?'

'Yes.'

'Anything happen?'

_Nothing that will lead to anything else in the future. '_No.'

'That's a relief.' Taylor leaned his lanky frame against the door, a genuine smile lighting up his features. 'Because if it had, Alex would be majorly pissed.'

'Alex is in love with Roberta?' Yassen asked sceptically.

Taylor rolled his eyes. 'No, but he's protective of all of us around you, _particularly_ with Roberta. He worries about her, you know, because she's so unreasonable sometimes and she has a long history of unsuitable boyfriends.'

'And I would count as an unsuitable boyfriend?'

'Oh, unequivocally.' The long word took Yassen by surprise a little, coupled with Taylor's slangy accent, but he supposed that with Clara and Jane around he picked these things up. He also suspected that, while Taylor was speaking without rancour, these concerns that he was attributing to Alex were also his own. He and Alex were not dissimilar. Alex might have turned out a lot like Taylor, if MI6 hadn't turned him into the grim, brooding boy the Russian knew. He might still become more like Taylor, if he carried on being exposed to music like this. Their eyes were even the same shade of brown.

_I'm not the only special teenager in the world_, Alex had said to him on the night of the concert.

'Yassen? We'd better get to bed, bruv, it's freezing out here.'

Yassen forced a weary smile to his lips. 'You are right, Taylor,' he said, turning towards the stairs. 'It is time we were both in bed. And thank you for letting me in.'

**A/N: Question time! This is the first time I have tried introducing romance into the story, and what I want to know is – do the majority of my readers consider scenes like the one we have just witnessed to be good...or BAAAAAD? Let me know by **

**REVIEWING!**

**Which also motivates me to update, though I don't blame a lot of you for having lost interest and wandered off. I meant to have this chapter up much quicker on the heels of the last one, so sorry. I am back at school now, does that count as an excuse?**

**True**


	25. Chapter 24: Stolen

**Chapter 24: Stolen**

**A/N: In a couple of (much) earlier chapters I mentioned two brands: Listerine and Digestives. Digestives are digestive biscuits, and Listerine is a type of mouth wash. **

Yassen was used to sleeping short hours, but he felt the disrupted night when he woke up. He was aching too. The run was nothing he couldn't handle, but tension was tiring, and he knew he had been tense last night. His chest ached. He lay on his back for a moment, stretched as hard as he could and groaned, then rolled out of bed and made his way downstairs.

The living room was empty, with only a nest of rumpled blankets on the sofas showing where Josh and Taylor had spent the night. The boys must already have gone over to Clara's house. He could hear members of K Unit clunking about in the kitchen, but feeling in no mood to contend with them he slipped straight out of the house and round to Clara's. The sky was grey and clouded now, and the temperature had risen. A hard, greyish crust had formed on the snow, which was pocked with holes near the trees and beneath the hedge, where meltwater had dripped into it. When he knocked at the door, Jane answered it and greeted him with a rather terse, 'you-and-me-against-a-world-gone-mad' kind of smile.

'Morning, Yassen,' she said, then jerked her head towards the living room. 'It's a bit bonkers in there. Good luck.'

Yassen entered the room, bracing himself, but Roberta was nowhere to be seen. Alex and Clara, the only two people in the room, did not look as though they were about to set on him for ill treatment of their friend. In fact, they didn't look as though they knew anything was amiss at all. Clara was wearing an expression of extreme irritation, but it didn't seem to be directed at him, and Alex, lounging on the sofa beside her with a cushion clasped in his arms, looked positively smug.

'Morning, Yassen,' Clara greeted him. Alex thumped her hard over the head with the cushion. Clara said: '_ow!' _and Yassen said: 'huh?'

'I'm conditioning her not to speak out of turn,' Alex explained with a smirk. 'It doesn't really seem to be working as of yet, but I'm sure we'll get there eventually.'

'Alex,' Clara said, 'I think you have been exposed to too many evil – oof!' She cut off with a splutter as Alex hit her again.

'Ya see what I mean?' Alex said, turning to Yassen. 'She is just physically incapable of shutting up.'

'I see.'

'Look,' Clara said wearily, rubbing her head, 'can you at least explain to me what kind of situation counts as "out of turn"? Just so I know?'

'It's out of turn whenever I think it's out of turn,' Alex replied. 'Oh yeah.' And he hit her with the cushion again.

'Alex...' Yassen began.

'If you're going to give me a lesson on tact and diplomacy, save your breath,' Alex interrupted. 'I don't take lectures from hypocritical assassins.'

'Assassins find use for tact and diplomacy from time to time, just like other people,' Yassen said.

'Oh, whatever,' Alex muttered, whacking Clara with the cushion.

'_What?_' she erupted. 'I did not speak!'

'Nah, I just felt like hitting you that time.'

Clara launched herself across the sofa and began to beat with her fists at Alex, who curled up into a ball and held the cushion over his head, laughing. Yassen was just thinking that his training hadn't prepared him for this and wondering whether he ought to try separating them when Taylor appeared at his shoulder, hauled Clara away, removed the cushion from Alex's grasp and disappeared off to the piano to work on a sheaf of music, all without saying a word.

'Wow,' Clara said after a short pause. 'That boy should be a global force for peace.'

'I suppose it was a lost cause, really. The whole getting you to shut up thing,' Alex sighed, stretching out on his back and extending his legs until Clara was squished up to the very end of the sofa.

'Alex, why are you in such an annoying mood today?' she asked. 'You're not your usual sweet self at all.'

Alex shot a conspiratorial look at Yassen from beneath his lashes and then stared innocently at Clara. 'I don't know. Maybe because I'm happy?'

'Happy? That's random.'

'Isn't it just? I reckon I've descended into the well of despair and come out the other side. I appreciate little things...' He traced a hand in a slow arc through the air, then let it fall back and began to shake. It took the other two a few seconds to realise that he was laughing his head off.

'Poor hysterical Rider-frog,' Clara said affectionately, ruffling his hair and standing up. 'Where's Rob? She ought to be down by now.'

'Has she not been up?' Yassen asked.

'Nuh-uh, I haven't seen her yet this morning. She should be up, it's not like she was out drinking last night or anything...in case there's something she hasn't told me about.'

She vanished and they heard her yelling up the stairs:

'RoBERta! If you don't get up _now_ I'm not making your breakfast.'

'The sad thing,' Jane said as Clara returned to the living room, 'is that she knows you will. Because she doesn't normally bother with breakfast, but she knows you don't approve of skipping it and will get her some to make sure she eats it.'

'Ugh, I know, but what can you say,' Clara groaned, flopping onto the sofa and sitting on Alex's feet. 'Am I squishing you, Rider-frog? Tough. You shouldn't hog room like that.'

'What are you all yelling about over there?' Taylor called from the piano. _I'm trying to work_ was the subtext.

'Roberta won't get up,' Clara answered.

'She'll be up like a shot if I go and jump on her,' Taylor said, getting up and exiting the room. They heard him pounding up the stairs, followed by the sound of a door creaking open.

'Oh, she'll be _mad,_' Clara murmured. 'Three, two, one...'

Silence.

And then footsteps, thundering along the landing, jumping every other stair and landing heavily in the hall. The door flew open and Taylor burst in.

'Rob's not there!' he yelled.

Alex shot upright. 'She's _what?_'

'Nothing there but bedclothes. Completely cold.'

'Were her clothes still there?' Alex asked, in a tone that didn't exactly chill Yassen, but struck him just the same. It was the voice of the agent, cool, cutting, authoritative. Not the kind of voice a child his age should have.

'I didn't look.'

'Right.' Alex stood. 'Where's Josh?'

'Outside,' Jane said in a cowed voice.

'Someone get him. We should tell K Unit –'

'Wait,' Yassen cut in. 'There is no need to panic yet.'

'What is it?' Alex's voice was terse. He sat poised on the edge of the couch, straining for action.

'Last night,' Yassen said evenly, 'I was walking in the snow by myself. I met Roberta outside, and we talked. I think I may have upset her. So I would guess that she simply wished to be alone for a while, and that that is why we cannot find her now.'

There was a silence as the others digested this statement. Yassen could guess that they were grappling with the idea of him and Roberta walking on their own in itself, trying to make their minds put it aside until they had sorted out the issue of where their friend was. Finally Clara sat back with a shaky laugh.

'Well, I guess...that explains it then, probably, though really! Disappearing off like that without telling us where she's going, when we're all so tense and strung up anyway. Typical.' She pushed herself off the sofa and made her way into the hall. 'I'm going to ring her up anyway, just to make sure, you know, that...' She tailed off. None of them wanted to voice that.

Yassen got up as well.

'Where are you going?' Alex demanded.

'Outside for some air,' he returned shortly.

'Could you take Josh his coat then, please?' Jane asked. 'He's been out there since we got up, drawing, and I'm worried he'll freeze. It's the big black one on the pegs in the hall.'

There were in fact three black coats on the pegs, one for each of the boys. Teenage boys didn't seem to wear anything apart from black. Yassen chose the one that looked best fitted to Josh's short, broad-chested build and carried it out with him.

Josh was standing at the edge of the lawn with his sketchbook, deeply absorbed in some withered heads of lilac blossom, capped with greyish, melting snow. Watching him, Yassen was no longer sorry that he had left him out of the brilliant moonscape of the night before. Josh would probably get more enjoyment out of capturing these dismal flowers. Yassen could imagine exactly how he would mutter: _'Christmas cards. It'll turn into a Christmas card scene no matter what I do with it._

Or words to that effect, anyway. Yassen amused himself by creeping up behind him as quietly as he could, planting his feet in the small patches where green grass was showing through the snow. When he was an arm's length away, he reached out and touched Josh on the shoulder. Josh greeted him nonchalantly enough, but Yassen knew it for an act. He had felt the boy jump, and violently too.

'Jane asked me to bring you your coat,' he said, holding out the garment.

'Oh, thanks,' Josh replied, taking it. 'Could you hold this while I put it on?' He handed Yassen his sketch pad.

'I think you ought to darken the lines here,' Yassen said, pointing at the sketch as Josh shrugged his way into his coat. 'It will help to bring these flower heads into the foreground.'

'Hey, do I tell you how to do your job?' Josh murmured.

Yassen looked up sharply. Josh's silver eyes held his for a moment, and then Josh grinned.

'Good advice,' he said, taking back the pad. He was wearing a grey metal stud through his eyebrow this morning, and it winked dully as he turned back to the bushes, sucking meditatively on the tip of his pencil as he considered their shape. There was a little grey line on his lower lip where the lead had rubbed.

Yassen watched over his shoulder for a moment and then walked slowly back across the lawn, until he came to the path that led up to the front door. The snow was half-melted, and the boys had trampled it as they made their way up the path in the morning, but he could still make out the prints Roberta had left, returning to the house after their walk. He recognised the pattern on the soles of her boots, a grid of little squares stamped into the snow. He didn't recall paying any particular attention to it the night before, but some part of his brain must have noted it and stored it away, to be remembered now. It was good to know that his instincts were still sharp.

He set his foot carefully in her first print and walked in them, all the way up the path to where the roof of the porch jutted out, and the ground was clear. Then he stopped, staring down at his shoes, thinking.

The front door opened.

'Guys!' Clara called. She was standing on the front step, her mobile phone clasped in her hand, face white as chalk. 'I can't get hold of her. I've called her landline _and_ her mobile, and it just keeps saying: "_signal not found."_

'What!' Alex barked, stock-still behind her. Sounds came from inside the house, clatters, footsteps, cries of shock.

Yassen stood perfectly still, letting it all flow around him. His eyes were still on the footprints in the snow. As he walked he had noted the distance between him, and the gap between the last print and the point where the snow stopped was longer than Roberta's stride.

There was no suggestion of a struggle in the snow around, no mark but the footprints. And yet she had clearly never finished that walk up the path. It was as though she had been plucked straight up into the air.

**A/N: Aaaaand CLIFFHANGER! I actually only thought of this as I wrote the end of the last chapter, so go me!**

**I owe you all an apology. I'm not majorly inspired for this at the moment. I'm trying to keep a trickle of updates going anyway, but I know that I'm writing horribly. He said this and she said that. Yuck. **

**But bear with me, guys. I'm close to finishing another couple of fics, which will free up my schedule, and as you can see things are going to start happening now.**

**True**

**i: **Thanks a lot for your time. That's useful feedback. If I make Yassen fall in love, I'll try to show a realistic development of his character.

**Happy!: **Thanks a lot! That's really encouraging, it makes me think that you like my OC, which is wonderful to hear.


	26. Chapter 25: Following

**A/N: The Non-Conformists are joking about Alex's latest book...**

**Taylor: How's this for a slogan? "Alex Rider...in the jaws of death!'**

**Josh: Om nom nom.**

**Clara: Hi, Dezzy. ****Bye, Dezzy. You are so yesterday, but FANGS for the memory!**

**All: *ROFLMAO***

**OK, so how much did that book SUCK? A LOT, that's how much. AH sold out! He gave Alex the boot! He gave up, ditched his best series at the last hurdle and betrayed his creative soul! He might as well have ended it with Scorpia if that's the way he's going to carry on! Disclaimer: no, I totally would never write something so lame. I mean, Alex has been threatened with dissection and stuff, and then this Desmond upstart comes along boasting that he's going to make Alex feel more fear than he's ever felt before...and it's a bunch of crocodiles. **_**Come on!**_

**Wait, have I not updated since before Croc Tears? I AM SUCH A BAD AUTHOR!**

**Chapter 25: Following**

The house was full of a shocked, ringing silence. Yassen was sitting in an armchair in the living-room, trying to feign indifference to the atmosphere. Around him, the Non-Conformists were clustered, each dealing with the tension in their own way: Clara pacing, Jane glancing around as though looking for someone to scream at, Josh entirely still except for his drumming fingers. Taylor was looking between his friends, clearly wondering what he could say to comfort them. Alex he knew to be outside, watching K Unit as they examined the area for clues, glaring at them as though daring them to make a slack job of it. Clara sighed, dropped into the chair next to Yassen and buried her face in her hands. She couldn't remain in that pose for long, though, any more than any other, and sat up again, jiggling her knee. She was tense, but for once it wasn't because of him. He felt almost irrelevant in this scene; they no longer had any fear to spare for him, and they saw no reason to include him in their anxiety.

There was a tramping of feet in the hall and Alex entered the room, shivering, his cheeks and nose bright pink with cold. K Unit followed. Wolf waited until they were all assembled in the room, and then spoke.

'We've made a thorough examination of the area, and, like Gregorovich said, it's clear that Roberta's footprints don't reach the door. But there's no sign of any others, no sign that she turned around and backtracked, no tracks from an unexplained vehicle.'

'Nothing?' Yassen asked, staring steadily at Wolf.

Wolf frowned. 'Maybe...no.'

Alex's face contorted. '_Damn!_' He spun and lashed out at the wall with both fists, then staggered back, teeth clenching in real pain. He collapsed onto the sofa between Josh and Taylor, running a hand distractedly through his hair. 'This is my fault.'

'No,' Clara said in a low, flat voice. 'No, Alex, it's not yours.'

'They'd have given up by now if I wasn't involved.'

'If you weren't involved I'd probably be dead,' Clara said. 'If it's anybody's _stupid_ fault...' She made gestured with her fist, grimacing. '...it's mine. That bloody poetry...but I didn't think it was that contentious, I just...' She rubbed her fingers over her eyes, and they came away wet.

'But _where?_' Alex jumped up and began to pace. '_Where _did they take her? The only motive that makes sense is to try and make us come after her – use her as bait. So she must be somewhere where we're supposed to be able to find her. But how did they take her away like this? With no tracks? Without anybody hearing anything? How the _hell_...?'

'No tracks?' Yassen said. Silence fell. All eyes turned to him.

He looked to Wolf again. 'Just a moment ago, you said, "maybe." Maybe what? What is it that you saw? Any little thing may be important.'

'Well...' Wolf paused and frowned. 'The snow looked a little disturbed around the footprints. As though a strong wind had blown over it. It was frozen into ridges. But how...' He stopped. Yassen had nodded.

'Ah,' he said. 'I think I begin to see.'

'What?' Eagle demanded. 'What is it?'

'I think I can understand the method by which Roberta was snatched,' he said, enjoying, just a little, the feeling of having them hanging onto his every word. Recently, Scorpia have been researching new forms of stealth transport, and they developed a new vehicle. We call it a hoverboard.'

It was really rather amusing, the way every jaw in the room dropped simultaneously. He supposed it did sound rather fantastic, as one's mind wrapped around what the name must mean. Wolf was the first to recover – from his expression it was clear that he was furious at having reacted that way, and was going to take it out on Yassen.

'Are you trying to be _funny_?' he spluttered.

'Not at all.' Yassen could have laughed at the reaction, but he realised that given the current mood it would hardly be appropriate. He needed to keep them onside – well, as much as an assassin could.

'These are not science fiction, Wolf,' he said. 'I assisted in their development myself, test-riding prototypes. When Ash attempted to kill me, just before I came to you, I escaped on one. They are very real, and they work.'

'And do they...' Eagle began hesitantly, 'you know..._hover_?'

Yassen nodded. 'Like skateboarding in midair.'

'Wow,' Eagle murmured, shaking his head.

Yassen nodded once. 'Yes. But here is the point. These boards fly using rotor-blades similar to those used in helicopters – only with the blades rotating vertically rather than horizontally, of course. The disturbance that you described in the snow may well have been caused by a low-flying board. A rider could have approached almost soundlessly – the boards make only a soft hum when ridden gently, or one can cut the engine and glide – skimmed low, and snatched Roberta off the ground as she approached the house. And then they would be able to escape without leaving any tracks. Take her to a van a mile away and drive. And even I, out walking in the field, would never have heard a thing.'

You could have heard a pin drop in the room. Their wide eyes were fixed on his face. Yassen kept his expression neutral, leaning a little towards concerned. This was perfect. They were all listening, waiting for him to tell them.

'So we know, then, that Scorpia took her,' Alex said. His voice sounded a little rough, a little high, but his words were clear and rational. Yassen knew he would have to watch him, whatever he said next. 'You explanation sounds plausible,' he said to Yassen. 'We know how they took her. But does it give us any clues as to where she might be now? You're the only one who has inside knowledge of Scorpia. Do you have any ideas?'

Yassen let out a tiny breath. It was the best question Alex could possibly have asked.

'Yes,' he said. 'The hoverboards are experimental aircraft. Now, Scorpia has mainly administrative offices in England. We prefer to conduct our other activities – training, weapons development and so on – abroad, in places where the authorities are more likely to turn a blind eye. But there is one experimental facility – up North, in Scotland. It's where we did most of the test-flying for the hoverboards in England, and it's inconspicuous, out of the way. It seems to me that it would be the perfect place to hold Roberta.'

'Scotland?' Alex was still sceptical. 'That's a long way to take her.'

Yassen shrugged. 'Not so very long. They could easily be half-way around the world by now, but I have a hunch.'

'I see.' Alex sighed, biting his lip. 'I think...that it would be better to check this place out first, rather than going jetting off to unknown locations all around the world.'

'Scotland for I, laddie,' Eagle said in an exaggerated accent, slapping Snake on the shoulder.'

'They'll be expecting us to try something, I'm sure...well, we'll just have to be very careful,' Alex said. He turned to K Unit. 'You have experience of assignments like this?'

'I helped spring those kids from Point Blanc, Cub,' Wolf reminded him. 'This is right up my street. But that time we knew the layout of the building. We had you.'

'Well,' Alex shrugged, 'we've got Yassen.'

'Gregorovich.' Wolf glanced at Yassen, who was sitting serenely in his armchair. 'Great.'

Yassen kept his face impassive, but a slow, controlled bubble of triumph was rising inside him. It was reasonably likely that the girl was being held where he had said she was, but that wasn't the main reason for his suggestion. According to the research he had been conducting over the past days, hacking into the Scorpia databases via the internet, this facility in Scotland was where the operation that had transformed Ash had been developed and conducted. The site stored equipment, instructions, and data on all the research that had gone into developing the operation. If the information he needed to find out what was causing his strange flashbacks, and what Ash's cryptic statement about _prototypes_ had meant, was anywhere, it would be there. And with Alex Rider and a crack SAS unit to watch his back, he could find out everything he needed to know.

* * *

'Don't forget,' Clara said, 'that we're heading north.'

'So?' Alex said rather breathlessly, as he slung the last holdall into the car boot and slammed it shut.

'I just wanted to make sure that you'd all packed for cold weather,' Clara said. She was looking at Jane in particular. 'Not just skinny jeans as opposed to shorts; I'm talking coats.'

Jane rolled her eyes. 'Of _course_ we've packed properly, Clara. Stop fussing. Roberta –' She cut off for a moment, then continued. '_Roberta_ is the only one who thinks fishnet tights in the snow are a good idea.'

'Yeah, but you do wear skinny jeans a lot.'

'Whatever.' Jane swung her rucksack over the open top of the car and plonked it on the back seat. 'I've packed an anorak. And speaking of keeping warm – have you considered that your car is a convertible.'

Clara grinned in a _touché _sort of way. 'Yes. I'll put the hood up. But I'm not relishing the prospect.'

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon – the time it had taken, since they had discovered Roberta's disappearance, to check out road maps, pack clothes and perform a google search for bed and breakfasts – and it was almost dark, the sky a deep shade of blue that made your vision blur when you stared up at it for too long. Clara, Alex and Jane had just finished loading their bags into Clara's car, and now they made their way back up to the house, squinting through the glooming and scuffing their shoes carefully across the ground in front of them, searching for ice. They entered the house and headed into the living room, where Josh, Taylor, Yassen and K Unit were sitting waiting, with rucksacks between their knees and coats zipped up to the neck.

Alex wasn't entirely sure why the Non-Conformists were coming. He knew that they could do less than nothing to help; in any battle or hostage situation they would only get in the way. And yet from the moment Yassen had said Roberta was in Scotland, all of them had seemed to assume that they were coming, and he hadn't had the heart to tell them to stay behind. Why was it? Because with them he felt accepted and equal, and didn't want to set them apart and treat them like children, the way he himself had been treated so many times? Because, even now, he felt that they somehow had more _right_ to rescue Roberta than he did. They had all known one another long before he came on the scene, after all, even if it had been his arrival that had drawn them all together. And they were the musicians, the social outcasts, the weirdoes-and-proud-of-it. If it hadn't been for MI6, he wouldn't have been a part of them at all.

So what right did he have to tell them to stay behind?

There were ten of them, and eleven seats – four in Clara's car and seven in the monstrous jeep. So, as Clara had pointed out, there'd be a spare seat for Rob when they found her.

Alex's stomach was twisting with nerves. To walk deliberately into unknown danger on this dark December night...he shivered, and then realised that Yassen was watching him closely.

'We're all ready,' he said. 'Uh...everybody got everything they need? Coats? Water bottles? Last minute toilet stops?'

'Yes,' Josh said decisively. Everybody else nodded.

'Then let's go.'

They headed out to the cars. K Unit instinctively stuck together, and Clara unlocked her own car and got into the driver's seat. Alex stuck with her through long habit, but he realised that they hadn't stopped to think of any kind of seating plan...

No sooner had the thought formed when he and Clara were joined in the convertible by Jane and Yassen.

_Facepalm_, Alex thought. _How does this keep happening_?

The jeep started up first, revving with a growl, its headlights bursting into glaring life. It nosed out of the drive and into the road, and Clara put her car in gear and followed after it.

After about ten minutes they reached the motorway. Alex knew that it was quite likely that they would get separated by a mile or two during the drive, and they had agreed on a rendezvous in a small town, near where the Scorpia facility was supposed to be. He wasn't worried about that. But now it seemed that he was the last line of defence against Yassen. Fabulous.

They drove. It was completely dark now, except for the two streams of car lights, white one way and red the other, stretching on into the distance. Flecks of sleet were hitting the windscreen, and Clara had the wipers on, clunking steadily back and forth, mopping a clear patch across the glass. The fan blew warm air at their feet and the windscreen, making the air warm and humid and adding a low, drowsy roar to the sounds in the car. Nobody was talking.

'Alex,' Clara said, 'could you get my i-pod out of my bag and stick it in the dock, please?'

Alex complied, and Clara switched it on and selected an album. A blare of piano and guitar chords sounded from the speakers as the i-pod began to play ABBA's 'Hole in Your Soul.'

'_You feel bad, let me tell you, we all get the blues..._'

'More lame rock,' Alex mumbled.

'Gotta stay awake somehow.'

'_Sometimes life is a burden, way down in your shoes..._'

'True enough.'

He sat back in his seat, staring out of the black windshield, thinking. Thinking of twisting his fingers through riff after complicated riff, of the shrieking guitar stabbing in his ears and shivering down his spine, of the sweat and light and screaming of a concert...had he really done that only twice? Of Roberta's deep, husky voice saying dryly, '_aptitude is pain, Alex, aptitude is pain._' And then Clara had translated it into Latin and Josh had painted it like a crest over the door of the garage...'Non-Conformists. _Aptitudo dolor est_.'

'_But if there's one thing for the better, that can turn you loose  
'There's gotta be rock and roll,  
'To fill the hole in your soul.  
'There's gotta be rock and roll...'_

His fingers were itching. He twisted round in his seat, reached over Jane, who squawked, and past Yassen, who stared at him silently, and pulled a guitar out of the boot.

It was a proper guitar, not a bass, and he and Roberta hadn't done more than an idle demonstration or two of how to play it, so he went for trial and error, playing the chords Roberta had showed him, followed by the ones he thought he might have seen her play during rehearsal, followed by complete guesses. He had to hold it awkwardly, with the neck pointed towards the back of the car, so as not to poke Clara with it.

For a long time his actions brooked no response from anybody, which meant they must be more asleep than he'd realised, but finally Clara said in a low voice,

'Try and play along with the music or something. You're clashing.' Then she said, in a more alert voice, 'Alex, is that Rob's guitar?'

'You're tired,' he said quickly. He glanced at the luminous clock on the dashboard. They'd been on the road for three hours. 'Let me drive for a bit.'

'You know how to drive?'

'Learned when I was eight.'

'OK then.' Clara was obviously too used to his odd abilities now to comment. 'Thanks.'

She pulled onto the hard shoulder and stopped, leaving the engine running.

'Clara?' Yassen said from the back, and both of them jumped. Alex had almost forgotten that he was there.

'Yes, Yassen?' Clara said.

'If you want some sleep, we can swap seats.'

'Yes thanks,' Clara said. Alex had a feeling that there was some good reason why he should object to that, but he was too sleepy to think what it was. Clara and Yassen both got out of the car, Alex slid across to sit behind the steering wheel and Yassen got in on the passenger side. Alex heard Jane murmur a sleepy hello to Clara as she climbed into the back, and Clara sigh in response. He pressed down on the accelerator pedal and slid out into the oncoming traffic.

He had never driven on the motorway before, but if anything, once you got used to the speed, it was easier than country lanes with sharp twists and turns. But of course, that could make it more dangerous. It could lull you, like it had been doing to Clara. He sat up straighter and tried to concentrate.

It was nine thirty in the evening – two and a half hours into Alex's driving stint, pitch black and cold – when Yassen spoke.

'Alex?'

Alex sighed. Of course. That was the reason why he had wanted to disagree when Yassen suggested switching seats. Because the Russian wanted to talk to him.

Of course, he had waited. Clara and Jane had been murmuring on and off to each other and to him, but they had been silent for half an hour now. Yassen still seemed in no particular hurry. The guitar was propped between knees, and he ran his fingers slowly up and down the strings, making a very soft squeaking sound, staring into space.

'Yes?' Alex prompted him at last.

'You are angry,' Yassen stated.

'Angry with you?'

'Maybe. That is what I'm wondering.'

Alex sighed again and began to speak quietly. 'Yes, I'm angry. I'm angry that this whole spy thing ever happened. I'm angry that my friends have to be in danger, that we can't just hang out and forget all of this. I'm angry that I still couldn't protect Roberta. But no, I'm not really angry with you. I don't particularly like you, but...'

'You are not angry with me?' Yassen said, not surprised or incredulous, but just politely asking for clarification.

'Psssh.' Alex made an exasperated sound. 'What would be the point? In the end, it's not really you're fault that Clara got into trouble. You just carry out the orders; I could kill you, but that wouldn't get rid of the root of the problem. And this time you really had nothing to do with it.'

'You believe that?' Yassen asked, and Alex blinked. It had never actually occurred to him that Yassen might have orchestrated the kidnap.

'Yes, I do,' he said, shaking his head at himself as he spoke. 'I suppose I could say that it's your fault she was targeted, because you came to stay with us. But I could have handed you over to MI6, so I guess that one's my fault as well.'

'And yet you don't particularly like me...?'

'I still believe that killing is wrong, Yassen,' Alex said. 'Julia Rothman tried to make out that I was just the same as you and her, but I'm not. I only killed when I had to. It's not the same as murdering in cold blood, or for money.'

'Mmm.' Yassen bent forward a little and propped his chin on his steepled fingers. 'The way...' he said, '...that your friends look at me...is rather amusing. Good and evil...it's not true to say that I don't believe in them. Untrue to say that I don't see the difference, anyway. But I don't believe in absolutes. Look at Mr Blunt, for example. Manipulating a teenager in the name of the common good. He –'

'We've had the Mr Blunt rant before, Yassen,' Alex said. 'This is not new. Couldn't agree with you more, but whatever.'

'Alright,' Yassen said, 'but that was only one example. There is also your father.'

'Right.' Alex groaned internally. 'My father.'

'I told you what he did. He was an assassin, like me. He killed people for money, to support his wife and child. He made them rich. By your generalising standards, that would make him a bad man.'

'You think I'm afraid to accept that my father was a bad man, Yassen?' Alex said louder.

'I suppose not. That is excellent. Very objective. But the point is that to me, he was a good man. He was the best man I ever knew.'

Yassen stopped, as though gathering his thoughts. His eyes, in the passing glow of the streetlamps, were wide awake, and less dead and frozen than Alex had ever seen them before. Yassen's voice was measured when he next spoke.

'He trained me, Alex. He looked after me and helped me to turn from a refugee into a healthy young man with a successful career. When I was fourteen, I had no hope. Scorpia gave me my life back. Your father gave me my life back. He _saved_ my life. All these things, to my mind, qualify as good actions.'

Alex shifted his fingers, focussing on the leather grain of the steering wheel beneath them. The i-pod had moved on from ABBA long ago, and was playing something choral and classical. A lullaby. It was making him even more tired, but it allowed him to keep calm. He wondered if he should tell Yassen the truth. That his father had been a double-agent. A spy for MI6. The words sat on his tongue. How should he speak them? Defiantly? Soft and consoling? He shook his head. He was afraid, he realised, that if he told Yassen the truth, the assassin might decide that his obligation to Alex no longer existed, reach across and casually strangle him. Instead he said,

'On Air Force one, you told me that my father saved your life. You said he gave you that scar on your neck. How did that happen?'

Yassen frowned thoughtfully, fingering the scar. In the field, in the snow, he had told Roberta that it was a long story. But this was Alex. And he had all night to kill.

'It was during an assignment in the Amazon jungle,' he said. Alex listened as the picture formed in his mind's eye: the heat of the jungle, the green, holy silence, the drug dealer in his sealed-in complex, concealed from the world by swathes of leaves. And hacking towards him, the two assassins, his father and the young Yassen – Cossack – with determination in their hearts and death in their hands. Comrades. A team.

'Hunter?' Alex said. 'Was that seriously the best he could come up with?'

'Hmm.' Yassen pondered this. 'I suppose I never really thought about it at the time.'

'And if he was a Rider, how come you got to be Cossack?'

'The Cossacks are Russian.'

'Not really. Slavonic, maybe.'

'True, but they're closer to Russian than British.'

'Whatever.' Alex made a disgusted sound. 'I just can't believe you had a cooler code name than my dad.'

Yassen chuckled and continued, telling about the spider, the safety of the helicopter, the Commander and the bullet.

'He _shot_ the spider off your _neck_?' Alex demanded.

'Yes.'

'That's ridiculous.'

'I know.'

'Ridiculous or not,' came a voice from the back, 'you tell a mean story.'

The car swerved as Alex jumped nearly out of his skin. 'Clara!' he hissed. 'I thought you were asleep.'

'I was, for a while.' He could hear her rustling and yawning behind him. 'But I woke up. That sounds epic, Yassen.'

Alex sighed between gritted teeth. He wanted to demand to know how much she'd heard – particularly if she'd heard Yassen talking about his father and Alex not correcting him – but he decided that silence would be safer. Clara was sounding completely unconcerned, her voice gaining focus and volume as she talked.

'If I was writing your missions as a story,' she was saying, 'I would totally put that as, like, a prologue. And then reveal who it was dramatically, at a later point.'

'Which is essentially what happened,' Alex said, exchanging a glance with Yassen. 'But I don't want you to write a book.'

'Aw, come on, Alex, it would be fun. We could see how close we could cut it to the truth. Send Alan Blunt a copy and watch him twitch. Make up for some of those cheques you didn't get.'

'Clara,' Alex said firmly, 'remember that book of poetry you wrote? The one that inspired someone to pay Yassen here to come after you? Well, this would be the same thing, only with assassins from _all _the organisations mentioned in the book coming after you. And this time I don't think I'd be able to charm our way out of it. So don't. Please?'

'OK, I see your point,' Clara admitted. There was a pause. 'Your father, though...'

'Don't talk about my father!' Alex said brusquely. He hoped that Clara would get the message, and thankfully she fell silent.

'I'm sorry,' Yassen whispered. 'Did she know?'

'Yes,' Alex said, his eyes on the road. 'She knows.'

Of all three of them, Yassen was the only one who had known John Rider. And yet Clara knew the truth about his father, and Yassen didn't. To Alex, it didn't quite seem fair.

**A/N: OK, so a **_**few **_**things happened in that chapter, and ALEX AND YASSEN FINALLY TALKED GLORY HALLELUJAH! This chapter had better be dedicated to saremisam17/Ridergirl9, who, I seem to remember, has been clamouring for this since chapter one, practically. And to anybody else who wanted them to talk. There was definitely somebody going, 'I want Alex and Yassen to talk!'**

**The 'lullaby' which I imagined Clara would have on her i-pod is 'Seal Lullaby' by Eric Whitacre. It's something we've been doing in my choir at the moment. There's a recording of it here: http: / www . youtube . com/watch?v = zbZdIkQyrM4 Take out the spaces. You can find 'Hole in Your Soul' anywhere.**

**Well, whoever it was asked for A and Y to talk, there you are. I feel so good! I updated!**

**NCW: **Thanks so much for your lovely review! I must get Alex to write a song! Maybe while he's angsting along with Roberta's guitar (that he stole)? Alex&Robbie? I have a feeling Roberta would eat him for breakfast...but maybe she'll have to make do with him in the long run. The fact that you are writing these like proper pairing-names is a super-shot to my ego!

**Hmm, they are going to Scotland. Are they going to go to a castle and meet a certain slack-jawed laird and his Crocodile Bride?**

**NOT!**

**True**


	27. Chapter 26: Infiltration

**Chapter 26: Infiltration**

**Disclaimer: **Actually this fic is so special and creative and OC-infested that I do own quite a lot of it...

**A/N: I'm going on holiday from tomorrow for the next couple of weeks, so don't be offended if I don't reply to your reviews for a while. Also, there are complicated, not-very-good descriptions of layout in this chapter, so I'll post a diagram on my sister's deviantart account. Her name there is isabeljoanvalentine, and I expect there will be a link to her account on her fanfiction profile as well. Come to think of it, there is one on mine, near the top: I say that my profile is by her, and then give you a link to the original image. So you can follow that, and lol at my sketching ability. Which is lolarious, I freely admit it. **

'_Wake up, little Rider...wake up...you're not dead...yet...only paralysed, tempor –'_

'Wha-wha...AAARRRRGGGHHHH_!_' Alex cried, flailing upright with his eyes still glued shut. 'What the – ?' He looked round, panting, and realised that he was sitting up in bed, in a small room with wooden fittings, lace curtains and roses on the bedsheets. Clara was bending over him.

'What the _hell_?' he groaned, sinking back onto the pillows again. 'Man, you need to lay off watching Spider-man, Clara.'

'I don't see why.'

Alex opened his eyes again.

'In case you hadn't noticed, that was _not_ an appropriate waking-up line between friends. It was a psychotic villain kidnapping Spider-man with knockout gas and then intimidating him.'

'Heh. Sorry.'

'S'allright. Uh...where are we?'

Josh stuck his head around the door. 'In a bed-and-breakfast in Scotland,' he said, 'in the biggest suite of rooms they had.' He rubbed his neck hard, grimacing. 'I've been sleeping on the sofa.'

'I don't remember...' Alex shook his head groggily. He could remember talking to Yassen in Clara's car, and then swapping to give the Russian the wheel, but after that there was nothing but a blank sea of sleepiness.

'You were asleep, bruv. I carried you in.'

'You _what_?' Alex squeaked. He knew that Josh was muscular, but that was just ridiculous. 'Why didn't you wake me?'

'Yassen and Wolf said you needed your sleep, and I thought you'd rather me than either of them.'

'Uh...yeah.'

'Taylor carried Jane,' Josh said, pushing off the doorframe and coming further into the room, 'and Clara was sleepwalking and crashing into stuff.'

'Was not,' Clara said, smacking him. 'Anyway, Alex, Jane and Taylor are just waking up, and our soldier-boys are already having breakfast. Care to join?'

'Yeah. Get out and I'll dress.'

* * *

He found Yassen and K Unit already deep in discussion around a breakfast table in the shadowyest corner of the room. Alex moved over to join them, smiling faintly. He slid into a chair between Taylor and Fox, exchanged a brief smirk with his friends, and then leaned into the tactical conference.

'As you can see,' Yassen was saying, his elbows propped on the table, hands moving in small gestures as he spoke, 'outside this village the built-up land gives way very quickly to forest.' He gestured out of the lace-curtained window, where a strip of wilderness could be seen rising steeply towards the frosty blue sky, thickly wooded below and giving way to bare grey heather and granite towards the top. 'The base is out in the forest to the east, roughly three miles from here. There is a well-maintained track running close by – to be completely isolated would only attract curiosity – but all the same it is fairly remote. We will be able to drive most of the way, and then we will have a five-minute walk from our vehicles to the base itself. A three-minute run, should it come to that.' He gave the shadow of a smile.

'Security?' Wolf growled. 'How are we getting in?'

Yassen smiled more widely. 'It should not be difficult. Like building a facility in a wild location, putting up razor wire and cameras attracts attention. If the base was fully operational, it's true that it would be hard for a small, unorganised group such as ourselves to gain access, but as it is security should be lax. Even when fully staffed, the base would only contain around twenty people.'

'_Twenty_?' Wolf exploded. 'You propose that we just walk in there and try to take on twenty armed –'

'Twenty staff _all together_, Wolf,' Yassen said, holding up a placating hand. 'Workers and security. Did you know that there are Scorpia operatives who have never fired a gun in their lives? Who faint at the sight of blood? An organisation like ours requires scientists, legal workers, technological specialists – not just assassins. And remember that this base is not frequently used – a fall-back position more than anything else. I wouldn't expect more than one or two guards.'

'Yassen, why do you even have this base?' Alex asked in a petulant, adolescent tone, watching the Russian keenly for his reaction.

'It's a case of not putting all your eggs in one basket, Alex. We maintain a number of small, inconspicuous bases in respectable locations such as this – the world's security services can't possibly keep a watch on all of them. All the same, we prefer not to use this one for any heavy work if we can help it. Ethical laws make it expensive to conduct research in the United Kingdom. It's mostly desk-work at this base, analysing data from abroad. But it seems to me that, on this occasion, the facility here is ideal. You would never have known about it if it hadn't been for me, after all. If I were a Scorpia executive, I would think it an excellent place to hold Roberta.'

'And don't you think that the security might have been upped if they've brought a hostage in, Gregorovich?' Wolf asked.

Yassen looked him coolly in the eye. 'How many men does it take to guard an untrained girl, Wolf?'

Wolf subsided. Alex took a gulp of coffee, hiding his frown behind the mug. He took a sidelong glance at the Non-Conformists, who were all eating in silence, obviously listening very intently. _What is he playing at?_ he thought, looking at the Russian, who was calmly chewing wholemeal toast, his expression completely clear. _I don't believe what he says; his story's as full of holes as Roberta's fishnets. But surely he could think of a better trap if he wanted...unless he thinks that we wouldn't trust a perfect story...unless he thinks only this one's mad enough to believe. So what's his motive? _Of one thing Alex was certain: Yassen was not trying to kill him. Call it intuition, call it what you liked. _But _what _then?_ Alex swore to himself that he was going see this through. He would go along with Yassen's plan, he would outsmart him if he had to, and he would find out what it was the Russian wanted. Alex could sense that he himself had more power to influence the decisions made than any of them had realised consciously before. He raised no further objections to Yassen, and K Unit, hearing his silence, did not protest.

* * *

Clara's car was tightly sprung. Rather than jolting hard over the ruts in the road, it bounced, almost like a trampoline. Alex hung onto one of the hand-bars above the door, letting his head loll forward with each bump, his thoughts far away. K Unit's jeep was behind them, and the headlights flooded the convertible, picking out the faces of his friends in an odd mess of light and shadow. The argument for their coming was that, should he, Yassen and K Unit need to make a quick getaway, they would need someone waiting to drive the cars. But Alex knew that it wasn't a real excuse – at least not for bringing all of them. His friends should have been back in the bed and breakfast. No, they should have been back in Essex, sitting around Clara's dining table. But once again, Alex didn't want to give an order to his friends, and when he pictured what it would be like to wait in safety, not knowing if the mission would succeed, he couldn't find it in his heart to argue with them.

Clara was driving. She looked pale.

The Jeep stopped. In the wing mirror, Alex saw Yassen signal to him, and touched Clara on the shoulder. She nodded and slowed. The jeep steered sideways and lumbered off the track, into the trees, and Clara made a three-point turn and followed. They drove until the trees became too thick to allow the vehicles to pass. Then they stopped. Clara cut the engine, opened her door, stuck one leg out and waited.

Alex climbed out of the car and walked towards the jeep. He shivered as he did so, pulling his jacket close around him. He had left his anorak at home, thinking that the extra layers would only hamper him, and that, knowing his luck, he would soon be good and warm one way or another, and now the air seemed to bite right through to him. The cold felt like wet against his skin. Alex was sure that the temperature could only be a few degrees above zero at the most – damp rather than dry and frosty. Thin mist shifted between the trees, beading on his skin. It would probably rain. Just what he needed: a nice downpour that would work its way all through his clothes and ensure that the cold reached him. He would have preferred a blizzard; at least that was dry.

He looked questioningly at Yassen, who nodded and said,

'That way.'

Alex swallowed, and turned back to the car. Taylor had half-risen from his seat.

'Bruv –' he said.

'Don't even try it, Taylor,' Alex said, shaking his head. 'You're all staying here. Don't be ridiculous.'

'Don't worry, Alex,' Jane said, putting her hand on Taylor's arm. 'Not that I want you to die alone or anything, but I'm not _desperate_ to join in this time.'

They all laughed. There was nothing much else to do. Alex felt the soft, shared chuckle ignite a tiny, steady kernel of warmth in the pit of his twisting stomach. He hesitated for a moment. He would have liked to hug Taylor, but something held him back. Was it because he didn't want displays of affection in front of K Unit? Or because a proper goodbye would make it seem like he wasn't coming back?

'If we're not back in an hour,' he said, grimacing around the futile words, 'uh...call the police.'

'Will do, Alex,' Clara nodded.

'Sit in the jeep,' Snake said, tossing her the car keys. 'It's warmer.'

'Thanks.' Clara spun the keyring around one finger but stayed where she was, watching. Alex shifted his shoulders and backed slowly away, falling in with K Unit. They reached the screen of the trees, turned away, began to walk and then to run. Alex didn't look back.

That last look and that hug. He had a feeling he was going to regret not taking those.

Leaping over mossy logs and ducking beneath branches loaded with fine, drenching sprays of water, it took them three minutes, as Yassen had said. Then they came into a clearing. Alex, peering through the gathering gloom – it was four o'clock, and already getting dark – saw a tall railing fence running ahead of them, turning in a sharp right angle at either end. A square complex. Not large, as Yassen had said.

'Camera,' Snake whispered.

The long black box, its lens glinting, was perched watchfully above the gate. Running his eye along the top of the fence, Alex saw others set up at intervals. They were arranged at different angles, but none of them were rotating. Finally Fox pointed to a spot between two and said,

'Blind spot.'

With a nod, Wolf darted forward and jumped. His foot crunched in the damp leaf litter, and he caught hold of the top of the fence, his powerful arms hoisting him up and swinging him over. He landed on the other side with a tiny scrunch of boots on concrete.

One by one, the others copied the manoeuvre. Alex was the last one over. He had to jump high to make it, and his bullet wound made a whispered complained as he hauled himself up. He landed, cat-like, the others stepping back to make room for him, and took stock of his surroundings.

They were on a paved walkway that ran right up to the fence, hemmed in on either side by the blank, windowless walls of two buildings. Looking up, he saw their tiled roofs slanting up above them. They followed the walkway up, peering cautiously round the corner of the left-hand wall, and found themselves looking into a more open space. From where he was, Alex could see the gate, electronic from the look of it, and a path leading to the front of what seemed to be the main building. It was high – three storeys, maybe – and really quite nicely designed. A plate-glass window showed an open-plan ground floor, with clean, modern fittings, a reception desk of all things, incongruous wooden beams and a flight of steps leading up. A concrete path like the one they were on lead all the way around it and out of sight. Arranged around the main building, against the compound fence, were several one-storey bunkers in red brick. It was between two of these that they had entered the compound. Now Alex risked moving away from the shelter of the wall, into the open space.

Nothing happened. He turned to examine the low cabin whose side wall they had just walked along. It had a dark green door, clearly locked, with a blank window on either side of it. Alex cupped his hands around his face and peered into one of the windows. Nothing.

'I expect that these are storage buildings or computer labs,' Yassen whispered. 'The glass building most likely contains offices, living quarters, anything that will be housing humans.' He paused. 'A cell block might be around the back.'

'Quiet, isn't it?' Eagle said, stirring uneasily.

'Somebody at home, though, look,' Wolf murmured, gesturing towards the glass building. The reception area was lit up. Wolf was right. There had to be somebody on the site.

'Not much security, is there?' Snake muttered.

'Who would want to break in?' said Yassen.

'I know I didn't,' Eagle said. He wrapped his arms around himself. 'I'm _freezing_.'

'Then let's get cracking,' Wolf said. He wasn't whispering, but his voice was very low. 'We'll need to divide up –'

'Alex should not be alone,' Yassen said at once. He turned to Alex. 'You could accompany me –'

'Cub, you'll stick with Snake,' Wolf interrupted. Alex rolled his eyes to himself, slouching back against the wall, and then wondered if Yassen had been using reverse psychology. Did he _not_ want Alex following him? Well, Alex was going to keep his eyes open...but he wondered how many times he was going to let an action of the Russian's pass, noted but not challenged. How many more times would be one time too many?

'I'll be partnered with Gregorovich,' Wolf continued. 'Eagle and Fox can partner up. Now, you two check around these cabins here, Snake and Cub head straight for the back, and Gregorovich and I will take the main building.'

Alex nodded, swallowing. It was so damned quiet. He would have almost welcomed a shouting gun squad bursting out of the shadows at this point. At least then he would know where his enemies were. But the whole complex really did seem to be asleep.

Snake slipped around the corner of the brick bunker and Alex followed. They began to skirt round the main building, hugging the walls of the surrounding cabins rather than using the path. Glancing back, he saw Fox and Eagle heading off in the opposite direction, checking the door of each cabin they passed, and Wolf and Yassen darting towards the main building. He hoped they knew what they were doing.

They continued on, following the path until it made a right-angled turn to the right. Alex was beginning to form a clearer picture of where he was. The compound was a fenced-in square, with a single gate in the side they had entered over. Right up against the fence, in a ring around the whole compound, were these red-brick cabins: squat, one-story buildings, all identical. Alex thought that Yassen was probably right when he said they were used for storage. He couldn't imagine anyone spending time in them; not on a night like this. At least, not any Scorpia employee...

The concrete path they were following formed an inner ring inside the fence and the cabins; inside that was the main building, the one with the glass front. As he and Snake reached the corner of the complex and turned, he saw that the main building was rectangular in shape. What they had seen as they entered was the gable end. Now the path turned and ran along one of the long sides, heading towards the back of the complex. There was a grass strip between the path and the wall of the main building, with shrubbery. Snake signalled, and together they dashed across the path and into the bushes. Undercover, they made their way on hands and knees to the back of the complex.

Here, the smooth rectangle of the building broke up into a messy collection of smaller blocks. Alex looked at Snake, half-rising from his crouch in the shrubbery as he did so. There was an automatic double door ahead of them. Snake shrugged, stepped forward and stood in front of it. The door slid open.

* * *

Nothing happened when Wolf pushed open the tall glass door and stepped into the reception area. No sirens erupted, no guns opened fire. He glanced around. There was a curved desk with a computer behind it, and opposite that an alcove with a couple of leather sofas. The staircase headed up. The room was softly lit with a faintly green-blue light.

'Do alright for yourselves, don't you?' Wolf muttered. Yassen did not reply.

They advanced slowly across the foyer, checking as they did so for lasers, pressure pads, anything that might be designed to sense an intruder. Nothing. Wolf had to admit that as a partner Gregorovich was good. He performed his share of the checks meticulously, not requiring instruction, but co-operating well. He'd met soldiers harder to work with than the Russian, in fact. The young ones were always wise-arses, dashing around, trying to get to the traps before he did, as though they were Easter eggs or something. He shook his head. Evil villains or not, Scorpia knew their stuff.

They reached the stairs. Wolf knew they would be a prime space for pressure pads, but it was clear that they would have to go up if they wanted to find anything. The entire ground floor was open-plan. There was nothing down here. Yassen put his hand on the banisters, but Wolf raised an arm to stop him, a sudden thought occurring.

'Hang on,' he said. 'Mind if I check the walls first?'

Yassen made an expansive gesture. 'Not at all.'

Wolf took a quick jog around the edges of the room, brushing his fingers along the walls. All smooth paintwork, magnolia emulsion, no rough patches, no secret compartments. Nothing.

'Alright,' he said, cutting back across the room to Yassen. 'Let's try upstairs.'

It was darker on the first floor. The sky outside the windows was midnight blue, and only a few safety lights at floor level for illumination. Wolf and Yassen found themselves in a long corridor, lined with closed doors. Much more officey. Wolf shifted uneasily. The doors were only a few inches inside their frames. They would have no cover if somebody were to burst out and start shooting. Wolf put his hand under his jacket. Well, at least he had a gun and Gregorovich didn't. That was something.

Yassen had his head down, listening. Apparently he was satisfied with what he heard, or didn't hear anything, because he straightened up and began ghosting down the corridor. Wolf noticed how quietly he moved, delicate and fluid like a cat, his feet making no sound on the blue carpet pile. He shuddered, gripping his gun tighter. This was no time to go to pieces, but the silent complex was giving him the creeps.

They reached the first door – blank and white, not even a number. Wolf hissed as Yassen reached out calmly and tried the handle. The door opened. Nothing but a small empty office, with a telephone and a dark computer screen – even an overflowing in tray. Clearly someone did work here – but that person was long gone now.

Yassen quietly shut the door and moved on to the next one. Not to be out-done, Wolf moved across to the other side of the corridor and began checking the doors there. He was acutely aware of the Russian behind him, ears strained for the infinitesimally small sounds that marked his presence, and any change that might warn him of an attack. The next few doors that he opened yielded the same results as the first one – then, on the sixth door along, he encountered something a little different.

This room was larger, for a start, and barer – a linoleum floor instead of carpet. Metal counters lined the walls, with wheels on their bases to allow them to be moved about. And on the far side of the room, Wolf could make out a fair-sized tank.

What next? Fish? Sharks? Killer plankton?

He stepped into the room, stretching his arm out to hold the door open behind him, peering forward through the gloom. The tank was filled with some sort of liquid, viscous-looking and not quite clear. Wolf narrowed his eyes. There was an array of machinery, wiring and tubes tangled around the tank, blinking with little lights. Four tubes dangled into the tank, hooked up to a dark, fist-sized object which hung suspended in the liquid. There was a very faint beeping coming from the machinery. It seemed to Wolf that the object was pulsating slightly.

He leaned closer, and his jaw fell open.

It was a beating heart.

For a moment his stomach contracted and he tasted bile. His own heart sped up, spurting panic through his veins. He was horribly aware of it, pounding in his chest. Wolf closed his eyes and pressed a hand over his mouth, breathing in deeply through his nose. Gradually, he brought himself under control. _Calm down, Wolf_, he thought. _No need to be afraid of a heart_. He opened his eyes.

What the _hell_ was going on here?

He drifted in closer to the tank, drawn by a mix of professional interest and horrified fascination. It wasn't a trick. They were really getting the heart to beat by itself. The four tubes were carrying blood in and out. It was alright, really, now that he'd got over the initial shock. But why? Whatever _for_?

'Gregorovich!' he hissed. 'Check this out!'

No answer.

Feeling a far worse lurch in his stomach, Wolf darted to the door and wrenched it open, sticking his head out into the passageway.

The corridor was empty. Yassen was gone.

* * *

_This looks like a hospital_, was Alex's first thought. Well, that much matched up at least. Yassen had said this was a research facility, and he also remembered the Russian's first story – on the night he had joined them, what felt like a century ago – of how Ash had been altered, his mind and body changed. If that was possible at all, it could maybe have been done here. Of course, he didn't even know that it was a hospital yet. It was just the extremely clean look of it, everything painted in white, and...what else? Yes, that was it! A prevalent smell of detergent.

The layout looked like it was going to be complicated – from the door they had come in by, three corridors fanned out.

'Let's not get lost,' Snake murmured, setting off down the left-hand one. He was smiling faintly. Alex felt grateful for the SAS man's calm. With his blond hair and quiet, easy gait, he was like a younger, more British, less psychotic Yassen.

The corridor turned abruptly into a more open space, and ended. Alex immediately recognised it as a ward, even though there were only three beds. It was the cleanness, the bareness, the curtains round the beds. And there was a trolley parked in the corner, with a pile of clean towels and a spray bottle of disinfectant. Clearly the ward was not currently in use – the beds were stripped down, the dressers empty – but it was obvious that this building was used to house patients. What sort of patients? Alex wondered. Sick ones? Or people recovering from experimental operations.

'This looks like a hospital,' he said out loud. Snake nodded once, and once again Alex was thankful that the Scottish man was his partner. Out of all the SAS men, he was probably the least sarcastic – the one least likely to reply, _no shit, Sherlock_, to a remark like that. Snake just got on with it.

There was nothing here, so they doubled back to the door they had come in by and tried the next corridor. They passed a couple of computer desks, then opened a door and found themselves in an operating theatre.

'Holy...' Snake swore under his breath, standing in the doorway, taking it all in. He crossed the room and examined the counter beside the operating table. Alex could see lots of specialised-looking equipment: IVs, tubing, scalpels rigged to complicated hydraulic arms and scalpels designed to be hand-held. Snake brushed his fingers over a tray of glittering silver, then turned to examine a computer monitor behind him, attached to a whole array of processors.

'Well, Cub,' Snake said, 'this place is pretty empty, but looks as though it's fitted out for some serious –'

He stopped dead. A man had appeared in the doorway.

Snake snapped into action at once, vaulting over the operating table and diving forward, but Alex was there ahead of him. Before the man could do more than freeze in shock, Alex's heel scythed into his throat. He followed it up immediately with a blow to the temple. He and Snake caught the man as he fell, and lowered him quietly to the ground.

'Nice reflexes, Cub,' Snake said quietly. He sucked his breath in through his teeth. 'Damn, that was a close one.'

Alex nodded once and got his arms under the man's shoulder, lifting. The head lolled back. He was alive, but knocked cold. Alex looked him over briefly: the man looked to be thirty or so, olive-skinned, with dark hair and regular features, wearing a white coat. Alex pushed the coat back. The man was unarmed, as far as he could see, but there was a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt.

Snake took the other side, and together they hauled him around the operating table and laid him down behind it. They tore strips from his white coat, tied his wrists and ankles, and gagged him firmly. Even after he came round he wouldn't be raising the alarm. Even so, Alex knew that they were working against the clock now. The man might have co-workers in the building; he might have been in radio contact with someone outside. Either way, he was bound to be missed, and then Scorpia would know that there were intruders in their building.

He glanced at Snake, and saw that all this had already occurred to him.

'Let's get on,' the older man whispered, getting to his feet. 'If we're going to find anything –'

A door closed somewhere outside.

Alex froze, his heart hammering. Who was it? Where were they? Were he and Snake already being hunted? Alex ground his teeth. He'd always hated hide and seek anyway.

'Keep it together, Cub.' Snake was already moving, on his way to the door. Alex took a deep breath and followed. Snake flitted across the corridor and took up a stance against the wall, one hand going to his hip. Alex stayed in the doorway. There was a moment of silence, and then a figure hurtled around the corner. Alex had hit the floor and Snake had his gun halfway out of its holster before they realised it was Wolf.

'Wolf-man!' Snake gasped, collapsing against the wall and pressing a hand to his forehead. 'What are you...slow _down_, man! I could have killed you!'

'Pssh,' Wolf snorted.

'You nearly gave me a heart attack,' Snake complained. Wolf jumped and Snake gave him a puzzled look, then straightened up. 'Hey, what's happened? You look terrible!'

'Gregorovich is gone!' Wolf said.

'What?' hissed Snake, remembering just in time to keep his voice down. Alex offered no comment. He clambered slowly to his feet, his brows pulled down in a frown.

'I was looking into a room, and when I turned around he was gone!' It sounded pathetic, but Wolf was in no mood to describe his encounter with the heart tank.

'What? Why?'

'I don't know. I don't know what he's after, but whatever it is, we've got to find him.'

'We've got to find Roberta, too,' Snake said.

'_If_ she's even here,' Wolf retorted, 'which I'm beginning to doubt. I vote we get the hell out of here before that bastard gets back with every psycho in Scorpia behind him.'

'I don't know...' Snake said. 'You think a trap? It's looking like it...what do you think, Cub?'

They both turned.

'Alex?' Snake said blankly.

'He's...' Wolf was shaking his head, incredulous. '..._gone_?'

'Bloody hell,' Snake exclaimed. 'He's done a bunk!'

'Shit!' Wolf cursed. 'Shit, shit, _shit_!'

* * *

After ditching the soldier, Yassen made his way quickly up to the third floor. He made a few turns up and down the corridors to throw Wolf off, and then searched along until he found what he was looking for: an office with a live computer.

He sat down in front of the glowing monitor, and clicked to go to the desktop. He was surprised when the computer obeyed without complaint. Now that he came to think about it, this had all been too easy. He hadn't expected to make it this far unchallenged, and he certainly hadn't expected to find a computer that would let him in without even a password. This was probably all a trap. But Yassen found that he didn't care. How much longer could he have expected to survive in this line of work, anyway? He wouldn't have become an assassin if he was afraid of death.

He just wanted to find out the truth first.

He moved the mouse over the documents shortcut and clicked.

* * *

'Stupid bloody fucking Cub,' Wolf fumed as they hurried down the corridor. 'What the _hell_ does he think he's playing at, anyway?'

'Search me,' Snake shrugged. 'You don't reckon they're in cahoots, do you? Rider and Gregorovich?'

'That's not even funny, Snake.' Wolf's expression darkened even further. 'Doesn't he realise that we can't pull out now until we've found him? Well, we _could_ – _should_, really, damn it, but it's going to make it harder.'

'That's probably why he ran off,' Snake observed. 'He knew we were about to decide on getting out of here, and he doesn't want to leave until he's made a thorough search for his friend. But he can't be far. C'mon, we'll find him.'

Back at the meeting-point of the three corridors again, Snake looked around. 'We hadn't been down there yet,' he said, pointing to the third corridor. 'If he wanted to look for Roberta, he might have headed down there.'

'Right,' Wolf grunted, and took off at a jog, one hand on his gun. Snake sighed quietly and followed. He felt as though he was clutching onto a piece of fabric and it was unravelling around him. The building was still quiet, but Snake knew that this mission had gone very, very wrong.

Yassen read. Scrolling through a very long document, he learned about hypotheses and theorems, rese

* * *

arch and experiments, all revolving around ways to alter a person's mind and body. He read about diamond-hard alloys and ceramics that could be used to replace bone, and how such materials had been developed so that they would not be rejected by the body's immune system. He read about modifications to increase the concentration of carrier chemicals across the links between nerves, and the strength of electrical impulses from the brain. It turned out that these alterations increased strength and reflexes hugely, but had a detrimental effect on the body long-term, wearing out the muscles and joints. He read a discussion of the benefits of a surgically enhanced agent versus a longer-lived, unaltered human, who would gain more skill and experience. He read about an experimental fibre which could be used to reinforce the muscles.

And then he came to the psychological side of the study. It turned out that, with very precise laser surgery, human behaviours could be altered, certain instincts increased, others suppressed. There was a great deal here about 'lesions,' artificial structures in the brain, which could be used to do just that. And here, there was a headshot of Ash.

Apparently the areas of his brain dealing with sociability – mercy, compassion and the like – had been thoroughly repressed. Augmentations to the left hand side boosted his analytical skills, but at the same time reduced his tendency to question and debate.

_Obedience_, Yassen thought, and read a paragraph discussing the effectiveness of the lesions. One had to consider the original mentality of the patient, apparently. There had been few opportunities for research thus far, but it was possible that the changes caused by the operation used on Ash were so drastic that in a normal citizen they would simply fail to take hold. The person operated on would notice. They would think they had gone insane. By many Scorpia scientists, a more subtle approach was recommended.

Yassen reached the bottom of the page, and clicked, 'history.'

Immediately a name and a picture flashed up on the screen. _Yassen Gregorovich_.

Agent Gregorovich had been the very first to undergo experimental surgery, fourteen years ago. He had been a young, highly-skilled assassin, but was left unstable by the death of his mentor. The surgery, far less invasive than in later attempts, had merely suppressed certain connections in the brain – the guilt trigger, for example – allowing the brain to 'think itself' into the new mindset. After the operation, the agent's nerve had quickly recovered. He had become a highly successful Scorpia operative, and, most ground-breaking of all, he had had absolutely no memory of the operation afterwards.

'_Chyert voeh'mee_?' Yassen muttered in Russian. '_What the hell_?' He pressed his forehead into his hand, teeth gritted together, shaking...

The door swung open behind him.

* * *

Snake was aware that the corridor they were travelling down was becoming less medical-looking. The walls had changed from clinical white to bare brick. The lighting was still bright, but the smell of disinfectant was fading.

'What do you reckon's here?' he whispered to Wolf.

'Why are you looking at me like I know?' Wolf snapped back.

The corridor continued on ahead of them, sloping up now like a wheelchair ramp, but to their right there was another automatic door, and as they passed it slid open, activated by their motion across it.

'Might as well check in here,' Snake suggested. Wolf grunted, and the two of them swerved to the side and through the door.

Another corridor ('another _bloody_ corridor,' thought Wolf). Shorter this time, lit with yellowish electric light. And the walls had a pattern that made Snake's blood run cold. Bricks and bars, bricks and bars...

A series of cells.

Looking into the closest cell, they could see a chemical toilet, an empty food tray scattered with crumbs, and a narrow bed. Sprawled out on the bed with its legs pointing towards them, feet dangling over the end of the mattress, was a prone form.

The feet were wearing battered black boots, with neon laces and a little grid of squares on the sole.

As Wolf and Snake stared, the figure stirred. It sat up, blinking blearily, and then stared at them, the eyes, surrounded with smudged black liner, widening in surprise. The hair falling into those eyes was streaked with pink.

'Ro_berta_?' Wolf said, starting forward.

The automatic door hissed shut.

'Hey!' Snake yelled, darting back, but before he could touch the door a metal grill shot out of the wall and slammed across in front of it. There was a resounding clang, and then silence.

* * *

Yassen whipped round in his chair, clutching at the air by his hip before realising that he didn't have a gun. Nothing but his own two shaking hands.

'Mr Gregorovich,' came a calm, smiling voice from the doorway. 'How delightful to see you again.'

It was Julia Rothman.

**A/N: ZOMGZ I JUST SAW TOYSTORY 3 IT'S TEH BEST FILM IN THE UNIVERSE TO INFINITY AND BEYOND!**

**And I had a very good singing lesson too. DROWNING IN AWESOMENESS!**

**OK, so now you **_**have **_**to check out the diagram that goes with this chapter. My sister did chibis on it (more-manga-than-manga cartoon sketches, to the uninitiated). You can find it here: http: / isabeljoanvalentine . deviantart. com/ gallery/#/d2w7i3l Take out the spaces.**

**Meh, it hasn't come out so well. I'll go over it in pen when I get back. In the meantime, click on the picture itself to make it bigger, so that you can actually see it.**

**I was feeling all clever and evil and plot-ey and hyper at the end of this chapter, but it pales before the awesomeness that is Toy Story. Ah well, don't forget to review!**

**Saremisam17: **Yeah, it was about time they talked. I hope your computer's sorted out.

**Sorry if I missed out any other anonymous reviewers. This wouldn't happen if you got accounts (yes, **Saremisam17, **you have mitigating circumstances). Hopefully I'll get something done while on holiday. Until next time!**

**True xxx**


	28. Chapter 27: Gunpoint

**Chapter 27: Gunpoint**

**A/N: Eugh, I just looked at my document manager and it's hideously depleted. Sorry guys!**

**I can never remember what chapter I'm on with this fic. Anyway, my apologies. You ought to have had this long ago, but there was an incident with me opening an attachment with this chapter in on my emails, so as to work on it on a different computer, and I finished up and clicked save, but forgot to save it **_**too**_** anywhere, and closed it and lost what I'd done…which wasn't much, thankfully, but I then left it for a long time, terrified of the set-like-concrete writer's block I'd find when I tackled it again. Because nothing's worse than having something written down, **_**exactly right**_**, and then losing it and not being able to remember how it went, and forcing yourself to write something that you feel is sub-standard. I think it came out OK, though I'm afraid the first scene is rhythmically repetitive…it's quite hard, actually, to write a scene of two emotionless people having an emotional moment. I'm quite fascinated with Julia Rothman, actually, and keep wanting to describe the exact emotions she's faking with each sentence, along with Yassen's mental response to them, but I imagine you guys would lose patience with that if I did it for four pages…**

**Maybe it would help if I proofread it?**

'What did you do to me?' Yassen demanded. One of his hands rested on the back of the chair, gripping it until the knuckles turned white.

'What did I do to you?' Julia Rothman asked. 'Well, nothing. Not personally, at least. I've never been much of a surgeon.'

Yassen chuckled, shaking his head slowly. There wasn't much else he could do. He sighed, straightened himself up in the chair and spun it round to face the door. Mrs Rothman stepped into the room, pulled out another chair and sat down opposite him.

'I was wondering if we might be seeing you here soon, Mr Gregorovich,' she said quietly.

Yassen tried a different line of questioning. 'Why did you kidnap Roberta?' he asked.

Mrs Rothman's eyes widened as though in surprise. 'I'm sure you have figured that out for yourself by now, Mr Gregorovich.'

Yassen nodded. It was obvious. 'You used her as bait,' he said.

'Partly,' Mrs Rothman agreed. 'We had to locate you somehow. I think your ruse of hiding with the Rider boy and his friends was quite remarkable, by the way. I was certain that it would be only a matter of time before we or MI6 managed to flush you out, but you had gone completely to ground. It was days before Ash suggested that Alex might be responsible...' She trailed off, her eyes focussed on the ground without really seeing it, thoughtful. Watching, Yassen marvelled anew at her facade. However flawless his poker face, he knew that all he'd ever really achieved towards self-concealment was an icy absence of emotion. This perfectly balanced appearance of thoughtfulness, emotion and delicate womanhood was something else entirely. John Rider had mastered it too: the art of seeming like a normal, friendly human being. And Alex, of course. Yassen wondered how much of the boy's cheerfulness was genuine, and how much of it was just an act.

Mrs Rothman spoke again, more briskly this time. 'Of course, I was incredulous at first when Ash brought me his theory. But then I started to think. It wouldn't be the first time the Riders have surprised us. It wouldn't be the first time an assassin has escaped detection by hiding in plain sight. So I had Ash do some scouting around Clara Foster's house, and he happened to spot you and young Roberta, out walking during the night.

'He told me that you talked, quarrelled and separated. Roberta began to walk home without you. You waited for some time before following.'

'_She_ quarrelled with _me_,' Yassen murmured. Mrs Rothman smiled.

'Now, Ash has always been somewhat perverse. It would have been the ideal time to apprehend you, but instead he chose to follow Roberta. He picked her up just outside the doorway of Clara's house. He was quite proud of that. Of course it was a very risky thing to do – you might have taken her abduction as your cue to disappear – but he was curious, you see. He wondered whether you would come after her. And even if you hadn't, kidnapping her wouldn't have been an entirely useless action. It certainly helped to bring Alex Rider to us, and in any rate we were looking to obtain someone –'

'For use in your scientific experiments,' Yassen finished.

'You _are_ quick!' Mrs Rothman exclaimed. 'Yes, you've been reading up on that, haven't you?' She glanced towards the computer, and for a moment Yassen saw something that wasn't thoughtful or friendly, something venomous, flashing in her eyes. 'As you saw, we found that the extremely invasive mental conditioning – surgery that completely alters a person's mind – proved successful on a Scorpia operative who was already almost on the right track – in this case Ash. We want to take it to the next level. What will the effect be on the brain of an ordinary civilian, but one with a rather fierce and anarchistic outlook? Particularly one with ties to Alex Rider, a decided member of the opposition?'

'You're going to experiment on her?'

'It's perfectly safe,' Mrs Rothman said. 'I think she'll make a fascinating subject, don't you?'

Yassen breathed in slowly through his nose, dipping his eyes to the ground to think. So Roberta was here after all. If things had gone a little differently, he and Alex could both have found what they wanted here tonight. He wondered whether there were guards outside the door, and if Julia Rothman had a hidden gun. Would it be possible to make a break for it? But for what? Where would he run? And besides, Mrs Rothman still had an answer he wanted.

'And what did you do to me?' he asked again.

This time she answered him. 'Well, Mr Gregorovich, it is quite an interesting story. You remember John Rider?'

'Of course,' Yassen replied, one corner of his mouth quirking up in the ghost of a grin, wryly. Naturally he remembered.

'It began with his death.

'Now I want you to understand, Yassen, that what I am going to tell you is not to diminish the work you have done with us. When you were brought in at fifteen years old, you were one of the most promising students I personally had ever encountered, and I believe that you would have gone on to have just as impressive a career as you have had, without any intervention, had it not been for your attachment to Rider Senior. The psychologist encouraged that friendship, you know; he persuaded the board and the principle at Malagosto that it was beneficial, and I still agree with his reasoning. The sad fact is that many people in our line of work do find it difficult to form friendships, and that can lead to a deteriorating state of mind. Depression, doubt and so forth. But you seemed perfectly happy. Cordial towards your fellow students, comfortable with your trainer, and completely ruthless.

'But then, of course, John was killed. Shot down by M16. I was very shocked myself when I heard the news and you...well, you were only nineteen, and you were distraught. You seemed to lose your focus – the psychiatrist spoke with you several times, and he reported that your whole world view seemed to have been rocked. You expressed doubt in your vocation, talked about leaving, even about ending it all.

'So the board convened. It might seem extreme, just for one operative, but you were no ordinary student. I flew down and met with you myself, and we talked.'

Yassen's eyes were icy gimlets. Of course they would have sent her, the woman, to sympathise with his nineteen-year-old self. He could imagine himself talking, and her listening, voice soft, eyes wide and concerned, carefully feeding him exactly the things she wanted him to believe...he could imagine it, but he couldn't _remember_.

'I don't recall,' he said.

'Ah,' said Mrs Rothman. 'No, you wouldn't. I'll explain that in a moment. But I remember very well what you said to me. I found you very engaging. You didn't want to leave, you see. This was the only life you had ever wanted, the only life you could envisage for yourself, and all your memories of security and companionship were here. You expressed disgust at your own doubts; you couldn't be rid of them, but nor did you want to be swayed by them. You told me that you wished everything could be the way it was before. And I told you about a way this might be possible. An experimental brain surgery that wouldn't fundamentally alter who you were, but might be helpful in – ah – _rearranging_ a few things to be more as you would like them. Essentially it represses certain circuits in your brain – actions that would lead to guilt or self-doubt, for example. I explained to you that the risk of ill effects was very minimal. We had already conducted experiments on animals and a few disposable prisoners; the only doubt was whether or not it would actually work. And I was telling the truth. It worked perfectly, and you have been in good health from that day to this.'

Yassen frowned. What she was saying made perfect sense, except that try as he would, he couldn't remember the period of doubt that she had described, or the conversation, or recovering from brain surgery.

'Why don't I remember?' he asked.

'There _was _one thing I neglected to mention at the time. You were also our first experiment with memory modification.'

'Memory modification?' Yassen echoed. There was something uneasy stirring in the pit of his stomach.

'Yes. Our surgeons were successful in erasing all recollection of the operation or the circumstances preceding it from your mind. A ticklish business, but finally effective. The result was something like the blind spot in a person's eye: unless you try to see there, you don't notice anything amiss. Your brain simply fills in the blind spot for you, so that it seems as though your field of vision is complete. And unless someone reminded you of the incidents erased, you wouldn't notice there was any memory gap at all. You recalled sadness at your mentor's death. Nothing more.'

'Until now,' Yassen said.

'I beg your pardon?'

'During the assignment with Ash, I was having flashbacks, dreams...'

'Ah, yes.' Mrs Rothman's eyes hardened. 'Shock, I believe. The result of encountering Rider's son after fourteen years, quickly followed by your first major injury...you were shaken, I don't doubt, and that compromised the modifications that had been successful up until that point. You see, as I was explaining to you before, the power of the surgery is in its discreteness. It changes you so little that you don't notice it, but that does mean that it can be reversed in certain circumstances. It was never supposed to stand up to a violent reminder such as the appearance of a son. That is why we are hoping that the new method – the procedure which Ash has undergone – will prove more permanent. But it has its drawbacks too.' She sighed wistfully. 'So many problems. Myself, I have always found science to be frightfully tedious. Vital, of course, but so desperately complicated. Which is why I have made business my field. I do hope I've given you all the information you wanted. What? Another question?'

'Just the one,' Yassen assured her. 'The heart in the office that scared Wolf. What on _Earth_ was the point of that?'

Julia Rothman laughed softly. 'The physical enhancements you witnessed in Ash require deep surgery,' she explained. 'The liquid you saw in the lab is a growth medium in which organs and tissues can survive while the operation is in progress.'

'I see,' Yassen nodded. He met her eyes. There was a pause, and he felt a coldness settle over the room, clinging to his skin like falling dew. He had finished asking his questions; the pretence of chat was over. Now they were coming to it.

He went first.

'You ordered Ash to kill me.'

Mrs Rothman had lost her friendly air. Her voice was flat and professional. 'We both know this business, Yassen. I considered you to have outstayed your usefulness. I'm sure you won't hold it against me.'

'And what happens to me now?'

'As I have told you already, I was considerably impressed by your success in evading us. I truly believe that, if your curiosity hadn't got the better of you, you would have got clean away. And your initial escape was quite remarkable. An enhanced agent, supposedly superior to any ordinary human being, set on you without warning, and you still survived! Not to mention managing to track the information you were seeking to this place.'

Mrs Rothman reached for the handle of the desk draw. She reached into it and pulled out a gun.

'Mr Gregorovich, it appears that I made a miscalculation. Clearly you are still capable, and I would like to welcome you back into the organisation.' She spun the gun in her hand so that the grip was pointing towards Yassen. He reached out slowly and took it.

'Excellent,' Mrs Rothman purred. 'And now why don't you go and complete your assignment?'

* * *

'How much,' Clara said, 'on a scale of one to ten, does this suck?'

'A lot,' Taylor replied, resting his chin glumly on the steering wheel of the jeep.

'I know, right? And I'm cold.'

'Yeah.' Taylor sighed, puffing out a cloud of steam, and took her hands to warm them. 'We should have gone with Alex.'

Clara drew away. 'Don't be ridiculous!' she said. Josh and Jane both looked up at the sharpness in her voice.

'I'm not being ridiculous.' Taylor's voice, too, was steely. 'I know!' he said, holding up a hand as Clara and Jane both opened their mouths. 'I know there's nothing we could do, but he's our mate. I'm not being _ridiculous_.'

Clara's eyes were boring into him. 'Don't do anything stupid,' she ordered.

'"Don't do anything stupid?" What stupid thing could I possibly –'

'Guys,' Josh interrupted firmly. He didn't say anything else, but his meaning was clear. _This is tedious. Shut up._

There was a pause as they each accepted Josh's warning, and then Jane carefully began again.

'I understand what Taylor is saying. Of course we can't help, but it feels wrong just sitting here doing nothing. Friends should be able to help each other.'

'Yeah,' Josh said dispassionately. He leaned his head back as far as it would go and closed his eyes. 'It sucks.'

Clara, Taylor and Jane exchanged glances. They waited, but Josh didn't move. His eyelids flickered slightly over his closed eyes, and he drummed his fingers lightly on his knees with a soft scratching of woollen gloves against denim. Other than that he was completely still. Taylor shifted slightly in his seat, glancing out of the window at the dark, barely-discernible shapes of branches. Clara gave a sharp sigh as though to say, 'it's all very well for _him_' and looked at Josh again. Jane caught her expression, cleared her throat and spoke.

'Um…K Unit said we should be ready to drive the cars away if they come back in a hurry, right? Well, we'll need both cars…so Clara, maybe you should, um, move over to the convertible.'

'Yes,' Clara replied, in a voice that was probably too loud for the small space. They didn't all have Josh's patience. 'Good thinking. I'll do that then.'

She reached for the door handle and pulled it open. Icy air and the smell of damp leaves swirled in, and Jane and Taylor huddled instinctively away from the draught. Josh cracked one eye open and met Clara's.

'Convertible? Take my coat.'

'Thanks,' Clara said tersely, already shivering. She grabbed the heavy black coat off his knee and clambered out of the jeep, closing the door hastily behind her before too much heat escaped.

Even the few yards' walk was unpleasant. She hurried from one car to the other, wriggling into her coat and rummaging in her pocket for her keys as she went. She located them, reached her car door and bent down, trying to locate the keyhole in the dark.

'Bloody stupid excuse for something to do,' she muttered, teeth chattering. '_Why_ it has to be this night of all – aha!'

The key slid into the lock with a satisfying scrunch of metal on metal, and she pulled the car door open and jumped swiftly inside.

It was scarcely warmer beneath the thin hood than it had been in the open air. And horribly dark. She could still see the shadow of the jeep to her right, but that didn't lessen the uncomfortable press of the forest on the other side. Clara reached forward with one hand, keeping the other clamped firmly beneath her arm for warmth, and stabbed clumsily at the i-pod in the dock. The menu flashed up briefly, and was then replaced by a dark screen, a yellow exclamation mark and a message:

Warning: Low battery. Connect to power immediately.

'Oh, _perfect_!' Clara groaned in disgust, flopping back in the car seat. She glanced uneasily through the windscreen. 'Come _on_, Alex, wherever you are…'

She leaned her forehead against the window and peered out at the jeep. Next moment condensation bloomed up the pane as she exhaled. Clara kept her hands tucked up her sleeves and watched it slowly fade.

There was a flare of light. Taylor had found a lighter and cigarettes in the jeep's glove compartment. Watching the practised way his thumb flipped the lighter, Clara recalled other cold memories like this: a frosty morning when the bus had been late, before she'd even dreamed of owning a car. That had been before Taylor had joined the choir, when they were still enemies, but that day they'd had a truce, and Taylor had borrowed a lighter from his brothers and used it to make a tiny bonfire out of twigs and dead leaves which had to be re-lit every thirty seconds, and they'd crouched and fed it with dead leaves while his brothers huddled over their cigarettes and swore and spat on the frosty pavement…she'd wondered aloud whether the spit would freeze before the bus came, like in the Arctic where you could pour boiling water out of a kettle and watch it freeze into ice crystals before it hit the ground.

'Does it?' they'd asked. 'Does it really do that, boffin? _Cool_!'

Taylor lit a cigarette and bobbed it in the window, taking drawing short puffs of smoke into his cheeks and blowing them straight out again to keep it lit. She waved back at the little glowing light, and then looked out over the bonnet again.

_Scrunch_.

Clara sat up straighter. Surely she hadn't really heard footsteps. She was just getting strung up, letting the darkness and silence get to her.

_Scrunch._

There it was again! The sounds were coming from the opposite side of the car to the light from the jeep, and they were definitely getting louder. Louder and closer. _Scrunch scrunch scrunch_. A person, running through leaf-litter.

She tensed, one hand on the passenger door, her heart in her mouth…and then Yassen broke through the stand of trees and slowed to a walk.

Clara threw the door open and flung her legs out, pulling herself upright. 'Yassen!' she exclaimed. He heard her at once and turned. 'Yassen, what's going on, are you O –'

She stopped. There was a pistol pointing at her chest.

'Huh?' was the most intelligent thing she could think of to say. There was a roaring in her ears, a pounding in her chest, a kind of twisting lurch in her stomach – but no real fear, not yet. She couldn't quite make sense of this real life gun, pointing at her, with nothing in between. And the idea of its being to do with Yassen's hand didn't fit either. It had to be a trick. Photoshop maybe. Because Yassen was a person who she knew, and guns…they were fiction. They didn't really happen. Not in real life.

'Yassen?' she said again, almost quizzically. And then more sharply: 'what are you doing?'

He gave a smile. It wasn't utterly devoid of humour, and that was the scary thing.

'I'm completing my assignment,' he answered.

'What?' Clara asked, in a faster, higher tone.

'You don't remember? My assignment to kill you.'

She looked at him. He raised the gun.

Her body understood that, even if her mind didn't. It jerker her backwards.

'No!' she said. 'No, wait!'

_Click_.

_The safety catch_, a small, dispassionate voice informed her.

'No, please –!'

She saw the joints flexing in his hand. And it seemed that from somewhere off to the side, she could also hear running footsteps. And hear a husky adolescent voice, roaring:

'_Stop_!'

She froze as a figure leapt between them, its back to her and both arms raised. Yassen stepped back smartly, bringing the gun up against his shoulder. Away from her.

She slumped against the car door.

_Alex Rider_.

**A/N: Cor. **

**We're really getting into the quick of the story here. These are the scenes I've had in my head from the very beginning. So if you're still not impressed…maybe it's time to give up. If you're enjoying it, on the other hand, this hopefully means I'll be inspired to update more than once every three months. Thought sixth form has hit me like a bat out of hell…but at least I'll be **_**trying**_** to find time to update.**

**A quick note: since the start of this story, I have got to know my OCs a lot better and to bring some of them, most notably Roberta, into a more prominent role in the story, while moving others back. I have also learnt the term 'Mary Sue.' However, Clara was originally intended to be the heroine of this story, which is why these climactic chapters are focussing in a bit more on her. Hope you're all cool with that.**

**I just **_**had**_** to be typing all this spooky-darkness stuff on a night when I'm home alone and have just had a nightmare, didn't I. Lol.**

**True xxx**

**Saremisam17: **Glad you enjoyed the chapter. And yes, be careful of viruses. I hope it's sorted itself out since last time. And I know Alex would probably find crocodiles scary even after all he's been through, but still…if he was the snarky boy wonder we knew, he'd have enumerated all the lethal situations he'd been in and laid out Dezzie's lameness for all to see. Because that's how he roles OK!

Wait, I think I replied to you already. But I'm going to leave this here anyway, because it's already typed and people deserve shout-outs.

**Peace!**

**P.S: Oh my gosh I just went cold. Because you know that saving-to-emails thing I mentioned at the start? I just nearly did it again. Only with eight pages instead of three. CRIKEY, that was a close one!**


	29. Chapter 28: Revelation

**Chapter 28: Revelation**

**Disclaimer: **Hetaliaaaaaa…wait, that's not a disclaimer…I don't own Alex Rider (or Germany's beautiful, beautiful face, sob. To find out what I'm on about, leave a review).

**A/N: And now there will be a new chapter! And it will be short and lame and full of talking! Have fun, ****mienes****lieblings!**

When Wolf had appeared with the news that Yassen had vanished, Alex had found himself with a very few seconds in which to make a crucial decision. Ignore Yassen and continue searching for Roberta, assuming she was in this base at all? Forget Roberta and go after Yassen? Or split up, some searching for one and some for the other? In a split-second he had made up his mind and slipped away through the nearest door just before Snake called his name.

Hopefully K Unit would carry on looking for Roberta and trust him to look out for himself. He had known that he couldn't leave Yassen to his own devices; whatever the Russian was doing, catching him at it would probably be Alex's best chance of finding his ulterior motive for bringing them to this place. And of one thing he had been certain. Though there were few depths too murky where Scorpia was concerned, Yassen's plan did not involve killing Alex himself. Not after all the pains he had taken to keep him alive. Therefore, Alex had reasoned, it would be better to take off alone than to waste valuable time hauling K Unit along with him.

Right now, crouching breathlessly between the wild-eyed Clara and Yassen's gun, he was thinking it had been a good decision. Having an SAS unit in full cry burst in on him would probably have sent Yassen off into a full-scale killing-spree, but his own appearance, miraculously, had knocked him off-balance. The pistol was raised harmlessly against his shoulder, muzzle pointing towards the branch-broken, star-studded sky. Straightening up, catching his breath, he knew that he held the Russian's only weakness. But how to exploit it further, when to do so meant a battle of nerves with Scorpia's coldest assassin, when all these theatrics made him feel so God-damn ridiculous?

Yassen was already recovering. 'Alex,' he said smoothly, drawing himself together into the most ominously relaxed of stances. He looked at him sidelong, shaking his head. 'Riders always did have the luck of the devil.'

Alex straightened up too and flicked his hair back from his face. 'Not all people would call this _lucky_, Yassen,' he replied.

'Astute, then,' Yassen said flatly. 'How did you know I would be here?'

'Lucky guess,' Alex shrugged. 'But it was kind of obvious, once I thought about it.'

'Obvious to you?' Yassen said, arching an eyebrow. 'Impressive. Because I didn't know myself until about five minutes ago.'

'Oh really?' Alex asked. He could hear Clara's harsh breathing behind him, and there was a high, strained note to his own voice as well. He wondered how much longer he could spin this out for, and to what end. 'Well you see, I realised you were up to something when Wolf came barging in on me and Snake all, "OMG, Yassen's gone!" and I decided I'd come looking for you by myself.' _Damn, I should have made out that K Unit were right behind me. Never mind._ 'I never quite believed you when you told us that Roberta might be here, so I was running around the complex thinking, "where's Yassen, how do I find him?" And then I suddenly thought, _Clara_.' Alex snapped his fingers in mid-air, then glanced over his shoulder. 'I didn't know if it would be a waste of time to come and check on you, because Yassen might have been getting away with doing something else while I ran all the way out here, but turned out he was here too, so…' He trailed off. Drew a breath. 'I guess it's _lucky _that I did.' He turned to look at Yassen again. 'But you say you didn't know you were going to be here yourself? Because I was thinking: if all you wanted was to kill Clara, there was no need for you to drag us all the way up to Scotland to do it, was there?'

'Incredible.' Yassen shook his head slowly from side to side. 'You anticipate every move. In other circumstances, you might have won.' He looked Alex in the eye. 'You are right. There are many easier ways in which I could have killed Clara. The reason why I suggested that we come here was that I believed this centre might hold the information I needed about Scorpia's brain modifications.'

'And did you find what you were looking for?'

'I did. It turns out that I was operated on shortly after the death of your father, and certain of my memories were erased. I found all this out surprisingly easily, and then…' Yassen smiled. 'I met Julia Rothman.'

'And…' Alex whispered.

Yassen shrugged. 'She offered me a job.'

'Ha,' Alex said blackly.

'They were trying to kill you a couple of weeks ago.'

Alex jumped at the sound of Clara's voice. Belligerent, a few tones lower than usual, the way it always went when she was trying to sound offhand and invulnerable. Yassen's expression was amused as he regarded her over Alex's shoulder. Alex took one step to the side, so as to be able to watch both their faces during the exchange that followed.

'It was nothing personal,' Yassen explained. Alex chuckled silently at the old phrase. 'It depends upon whether one is an asset or a liability.'

'Aren't you a little bit worried about the next time they try to turn around and kill you?'

'You don't understand, child. If one falls foul of both Scorpia and the intelligence services, there is nowhere one may hide. I'm safer in the fold than out, as it were.'

'But I –' Clara struggled, and for a moment anger won out over fear. 'I thought you _liked_ us!'

'Ah!' Alex hissed, an exasperated sound through clenched teeth. _Clara, you _trusted_ him! Just because he played the violin nicely and made intelligent comments you trusted him and thought he could be one of your friends…_

Yassen tilted his head a little. 'I do.'

'You're a _coward_,' Clara screamed, her voice rising to a hysterical note on the last word. She pointed a finger, backing up at the same time as though to put distance between herself and her own recklessness. 'You met us and liked us, you could change, you _should_ change, but you don't because you're too afraid to live differently from how you did before –'

'Why do you say _us_ as though it is us and them?' Yassen took a step forward, raising the gun again. Clara gave a squeal and clutched at Alex's arm. 'You think that because I can be civil with you "good" guys I must come over to your "good" team?' He paused, and collected himself. 'Remember what I told Alex in the car, when you were eavesdropping? People do good and evil things. It is pointless to discriminate. I would tell you to grow up, but…'

Alex seized hold of Clara and manhandled her behind him, spinning to face Yassen. 'Alright, you know the drill,' he snarled. 'If you kill her, you go through me.'

Yassen considered him for a moment. Alex stood perfectly still, his hands behind him, gripping Clara's arms, painfully aware of the acceleration of his breathing. Then he saw something close behind the blue eyes.

'How many times have I risked my life for you, Alex?' Yassen asked softly. 'It is as you yourself have told me; you are not your father. You keep throwing yourself back into this world that does not concern you; I cannot protect you forever.' He sighed. 'I guess you and John chose opposite sides after all.'

And Alex was staring down the black muzzle of the gun.

Heart pounding. Knees like water. A crash of adrenaline, like wiping out on a surfboard, blurring his vision, fragmenting his thoughts. Just the scream of the survival instinct in his ear. _Move, Alex, move! Fight, fight, fight! Run, run run!_

_My father wasn't a killer._

One stupid speck of pride reared its head. He was sick of haggling over what his parents had or hadn't done. It was irrelevant. What good could it do? He kept his mouth shut.

Clara didn't.

'You're wrong!' she screamed. 'He was on Alex's side! Alex told me the whole story: all the time he was with Scorpia he was really working for MI6!' Alex felt her draw a heaving breath.

'He was _spying on you_!'

Images, chopped and shuffled by the panic in his mind. Yassen stunned. Yassen recoiling. Clara's fingers digging into his wrists. The gun slipping from Yassen's hand, tumbling, hitting wet leaves, bouncing up, falling again. Rain and wind. Shock.

And then he was suddenly jerked back to himself by a dry, smug voice, which spoke surprisingly close behind him.

'Well, well, well.' A slight Australian accent distorted the vowels. 'How very theatrical. Forgive my interruption.'

His stomach felt as though it had dropped twenty stories. Gasping, Alex whirled around, dragging Clara with him, not knowing whether to shield her from the danger in front or the danger behind.

He found himself face to face with a dark, smirking figure.

It was Ash.

**A/N: Dun dun duuuuuun!**

**I know, not really. This was meant to be the pivotal scene, but in the end it was just a bunch of characters standing around talking. Standing around IMPLAUSIBLY talking, because Yassen is not incompetent, and so he wouldn't stop for a chat when he could just shoot and be done with it. But I had to hold him up somehow. Lol, Clara is insensitive and throws cheap shots when Alex is trying to be noble. But she saved their lives by doing so. Except not, because now Ash is here, and he hates everybody and has no weak spot except for his hatred of everybody. **

**Do you guys want eventual redemption for Ash, by the way? Like, should he eventually come through for Alex, or should he just stay evil right till the end. Eventual redemption would be more character-development-ish, wouldn't it?**

**Whatever. Whether or not it was lame, you now know what happened. Which is always a plus, I like to think.**

**True xxx**

**Hmm, no anonymous views to reply to…**


	30. Chapter 29: Capture

**Chapter 29: Capture**

**Disclaimer: **You know the drill.

**A/N: OH NO YOU GAIZ! I am SO SORRY. Six months. SIX FRICKIN' MONTHS? No. That is BEYOND procrastination. That is TOO LONG. Uh…school ate me? I would make that my excuse, except that I've been doing absolutely no work for that either, so it doesn't really count. Thing is, school work makes me incapable of buckling down to anything productive that isn't school work; I can only procrastinate. But, for better or worse, my exams are over now.**

**Anyway, to make it up to you I didn't cut this chapter where I might have cut it (though it's still only 12 pages long OTL), so you get more, though it also means the start and end situations are such that one might wonder whether there was any point having a chapter in the middle…but I'll stop before I give the game away.**

**Oh, and I've been re-reading the RobertaxYassen scene. It is really quite smooshy, isn't it.**

**(AndTwilightesqueohhelpmeyuck)**

Yassen dived for the gun. Alex felt a breath of wind on his face as Ash streaked past him, there was a crack and a grunt, and almost before he could turn to watch the Russian was lying spread-eagled on the ground, while Ash bent to scoop up the pistol.

'Don't make any sudden movements,' he instructed, pointing it first at Alex and then at Clara. Yassen groaned and tried to rise to his hands and knees. Ash knocked him back down again, cracked him over the head with the pistol for good measure, and then hauled him up and slung him over one shoulder like a sack of meal.

'This way,' he said, gesturing with the gun and striding off into the undergrowth. Alex glanced at Clara, then took her hand and followed. A few steps into the bushes they saw what Ash was making for. Two Scorpia guards were waiting, standing over the other three Non-Conformists, who had their hands tied tightly behind them. Jane was breathless and dishevelled, Taylor's shirt was torn, and blood was trickling into Josh's eye from an ugly cut on his forehead. They looked up at Alex with undisguised fear as he approached.

'We managed to get all three of them out of the car while you and Gregorovich were having your little confrontation,' Ash explained. Clara jumped; it hadn't even occurred to her to wonder what her friends were doing when she was staring down the muzzle of the gun.

'They put up quite a fight, considering,' Ash went on. 'This one scratches like a hellcat, don't you, sweetheart?' He nudged Jane under the chin with the gun. She made a hissing sound and opened her mouth to retaliate, but Alex shook his head infinitesimally at her. He wouldn't see his friends shot for cheek while there was still a way out of this.

'Get them on their feet; we're heading back to the complex,' Ash ordered. Alex shook his head as the other three were hauled to their feet, trying to figure out how this had all gone so drastically wrong. Clearly the compound hadn't been as deserted as Yassen had promised. Julia Rothman was there, and Ash, and at least two guards. A trick? Certainly. But Yassen's? He glanced sidelong at the Russian's head, jolting awkwardly against Ash's back. Probably not.

They headed back to the compound at a brisk march, Ash bringing up the rear with the gun trained on Alex's back. He tried to ignore the sick feeling it gave him, and to think calmly. At least he and Clara had been left with their hands untied, but he didn't see what he could do. He had seen how fast Ash was in that split-second attack against Yassen. There really was nowhere to run.

'Taylor?' Clara called timidly, making him jump. 'You okay?'

'Yeah,' Taylor's voice came back, shakily. 'They grabbed me first; I didn't really have time to do much. Josh got the worst of it.'

'So I see.'

'He got in a wicked punch first, though. I bet it'll bruise.'

'Hey, enough chat,' Ash interrupted sharply. Clara sighed and bowed her head.

They were frogmarched into the complex – through the main gate this time, rather than over the wall – and round the back, to the area he and Snake had covered before. They headed straight past the hospital area, down a ramp and into a red brick corridor, dingily lit with yellow bulbs.

'Hey, Gregorovich?' Ash said.

'Yes?' came the Russian's voice, controlled and slightly sardonic despite his predicament.

'I'm going to put you down now; I'm getting sick of hauling you around.'

'As you wish,' Yassen answered coolly. The words earned him a sharp jolt before Ash tipped him off his shoulder and onto his feet, immediately spinning him round and twisting his arms behind him. Yassen swayed for a moment, finding his feet, head bowed and shoulders slumped in a way Alex had never seen before. He still looked dazed, and purplish bruises were blooming on his forehead where Ash had hit him. Clearly he could expect no help from that quarter. Alex gritted his teeth. Where were K Unit?

They reached an automatic door, which slid open at their approach. A heavy metal grille was locked in place behind it, and through the bars Alex could see another passage. What he saw made his stomach grow cold. A row of cells.

One of Ash's men unlocked the grille and thrust it back, and the two of them headed into the passage. One of them fumbled with the lock on the first cell, while the other used his gun to cover the people inside. Alex craned his neck to see. Five people standing against the wall with their hands up – his heart sank – K Unit and…and…

'_Rob_!' Clara's hand was wrenched from his as she sprinted into the cell and flung her arms around Roberta. Alex's mouth fell open. He wanted to laugh hysterically, his spirits rising in spite of himself. In the face of everything that had gone wrong tonight, they had done one thing right. Roberta was here.

'Yes, there she is, all safe and sound,' Ash said. He turned to Alex and gestured with the gun. 'Now, why don't you four follow your friend's example and head nicely into the cell?'

He supposed there wasn't really much choice. He, Josh, Taylor and Jane stepped slowly into the cell, with Yassen bringing up the rear. Alex about-faced just as Ash rammed the sliding metal door home.

'There we are; nice and snug,' he sneered through the bars. 'Now I'll go fetch Julia, shall I?'

The cold smile disappeared, and his eyes flicked sideways to Yassen. 'I'll settle with you later, Gregorovich,' he breathed. 'Look forward to it…'

He turned – more of a flicker than a movement, it was so sharp – and exited the cell block. The guards formed up and followed him silently. Not a word, not a glance. Alex wondered for a moment where Scorpia and the other evil maniacs of the world found such an unlimited supply of amoral puddings. _Secondary school_, he decided bleakly. _Where else?_

'What a prize man-bitch.'

Alex turned to see Roberta sitting slumped against the wall on the narrow cell bed, staring at them from blearily rebellious eyes. She held out a hand with a crumpled pink packet.

'Gum?'

'Rob!' Clara howled again, burying her face in Roberta's shoulder, and watching, Alex thought he could understand how she felt; how just hearing that deep, sardonic voice again, unchanged despite everything, could make one break down and cry with relief in the middle of the worst-case scenario.

'Alright, Clara, you don't need to strangle me,' Roberta said, pushing her off. She fixed Alex with a challenging stare. 'Rider, you guitar-fail, where's my hug?'

'No way,' he said, backing away and immediately coming up against the cell door, an unwelcome reminder of their current predicament. He looked at Roberta more closely. 'You look like a train crash.'

'I know,' Roberta groaned, closing her eyes again. That in itself was alarming; she wasn't one to take an insult lying down.

'What happened?' he asked, crossing to the bed and sitting down on her other side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder despite his earlier denial.

'I don't remember too good…' Roberta rubbed a hand across her eyes. 'I was…walking and sulking…never mind what I was doing; and something wooshed up behind me…I found out later they were using hover boards…that's neat, huh?'

'Woah,' Eagle said. 'You mean Gregorovich was telling the truth about all that technology?'

'Yeah, pretty much,' Roberta nodded.

'Actually it is pretty neat,' Clara said, grinning. She caught Alex's incredulous look. 'What, I've always wanted a hover board, alright? Carry on, Rob.'

'Yeah, so then that guy Ash hit me really hard on the back of the head and when I woke up I was in a room somewhere…I couldn't really think after being knocked out and they handcuffed me in a car and brought me here, and then I yelled a lot and I bit someone and then I'm pretty sure I had some kind of a panic attack…pathetic I know, but there you go…and they gave me something and I blacked out for a bit and when I woke up _those_ two –' she pointed at Snake and Wolf – were standing outside the cell, staring at me with really stupid expressions on their faces, which turned out not to be that misleading because then the main door to the cell block locked automatically behind them, which anybody could have anticipated really, and after a minute a couple of guards showed up and put them in here with me. Which gets me to my main question.' She sat up a little straighter and raked the rest of them with a dark glare. 'How the _hell_ did you guys manage to screw up so badly?'

'It was Gregorovich's fault,' Wolf said at once.

'Well, never trust an assassin,' Roberta remarked dryly. 'Aren't you supposed to be the unit leader or something?'

'Oh, shut up.'

'Well,' Clara said, seeing that no-one else was about to begin telling the story, 'the night after you'd got kidnapped, once we'd realised you were gone and weren't answering your phone, we all panicked a bit…and then Yassen said that he thought he knew where they were taking you, and he mentioned this place. So we drove up here –'

'What, all of you?' Roberta interrupted. 'You idiots.'

Clara rolled her eyes. 'I know. But we weren't planning on coming in to get you. We took the jeep and my car, drove from the place we were staying to somewhere close to this compound, and then we were going to wait there while K Unit and Alex and Yassen went in to get you. Then nothing happened for a while until Yassen came back out and –' She stopped.

'And what?' Roberta asked.

'Well, we'll get to that,' Clara muttered. 'Guys, tell us what went down while we were waiting?'

'We got in alright and split up to look,' Alex said. He flicked a glance at Yassen. 'Everything was quiet, just like he said it would be –'

'Except that it wasn't,' Fox broke in. 'Wolf sent me and Eagle to check the perimeter, and about half-way round we passed a doorway and about half a dozen guards came out. Knocked us down and gagged us before we knew what was happening.'

'Yeah, they brought you in just after Wolf and Snake showed up,' Roberta nodded.

'What were you two doing together?' Eagle demanded, turning to Wolf. 'I thought Snake was partnered with Rider and you were partnered with Gregorovich.'

'I _was_,' Wolf growled, 'but then he ditched me.'

'_What_?' Eagle said incredulously. Then he started to laugh.

'It's not bloody funny!' Wolf snarled.

'Seriously,' Eagle sniggered. Alex wondered if they might not all be a bit hysterical. 'I thought that the whole point of you being with Gregorovich was so you could keep an eye on him. How'd you manage to let him slip away?'

'He was a little distracted,' Yassen murmured.

'Distracted? By what?'

'Alright, alright.' Wolf swallowed. 'We were checking offices on the first floor of the main building, and I walked into this room and…there was a heart.'

'A heart?' Eagle echoed blankly. 'Like on a tray?'

'A beating heart in a tank!'

'Woah. Like, alive?'

'Yes, you idiot! It was floating in some kind of liquid and tubes were taking blood in and out of it and it was fucking _beating_. So I was – interested in this and I stopped to look for a moment, and when I looked round the fucker was gone.' He jerked his head at Yassen.

'I did tell you this was a research facility,' Yassen said. 'Oh, and I found out what the heart was for, by the way. When they make people like Ash, they have to do hours' worth of complex deep surgery. Replacing bones with ceramic; artificial fibres to strengthen the muscle tissue…the liquid Wolf saw was a growth medium in which organs and tissues can survive during the operation.'

'He's telling the truth,' Alex put in, when he saw that nobody else seemed inclined to respond to this. 'Snake and I found a kind of a ward-type place and an operating theatre just before you found us, Wolf.'

'After I'd lost Gregorovich I went looking and bumped into those two,' Wolf resumed, gesturing to Alex and Snake, and _where the hell_ did you go, Cub? I was talking to Snake, telling him Gregorovich was missing, and when I looked around you'd _bloody well disappeared._'

'I went looking for Yassen,' Alex said, unrepentant.

'What, on your _own_?'

'Yeah, sure. He and I go way back. I thought I'd have a better chance of stopping him from doing anything bad on my own than with you lot hanging off me…' he ignored Wolf's furious splutter… 'and besides, I had a hunch as to where he might be.'

'And were you right?' Wolf asked coldly.

'Unfortunately, yes,' Alex sighed. 'Outside the compound, shooting Clara.'

There was a long, stony silence.

'I would kill you,' Roberta told Yassen, 'but it looks like Scorpia are about to do it for me.'

'Are you sure of that?' Yassen asked. 'When I met Julia Rothman she offered me a job.'

'But you're in a cell with us, though.'

'Fair point.'

'We saw it go down,' Taylor said in an odd, choked voice. 'Clara had gone to sit in the other car, you see – we were all in the jeep, but then we thought it might be good to have a driver in each car, so she moved over to the convertible – then we saw Yassen come and she got out of the car to talk to him, and we were just about to get out too but then someone knocked on the window.' He paused. 'And it was that Ash guy and a bunch of guards.

'So all the time Yassen and I were having our showdown, you guys were being dragged out of the car by bad guys?' Clara asked, 'and I didn't notice? I'm such a bad friend.'

'Well, you were distracted. We put up a bit of a fight, but then they got us into the bushes and made us be quiet while they waited to see what Yassen would do. It was…not that easy to watch.' He swallowed. 'You were awesome, Al.'

'Oh, come on,' Alex said, shrugging awkwardly. 'So, Yassen. What the hell did you bring us here for, because it seems like a pretty roundabout way of killing Clara. Were you trying to prove yourself to Scorpia again, or something?'

'No, though that's a very good guess,' Yassen answered. 'Actually I had discovered that this was the research facility where any information on what had been done to me was likely to be stored. I wanted an excuse to come here with protection and find out, and, well, it did not seem impossible that they might have brought Roberta here. And it turns out I was right.'

'Hurrah for you. So, did you find anything out?'

'Yes. It turns out I was telling the truth when I told you Scorpia had operated on my brain. After your father was killed, Alex, it seems I had a sort of breakdown, of which I now remember nothing. So Scorpia conducted a little surgery to – ah – restore my frame of mind.'

'Seriously?' Wolf snorted and leaned back against the cell wall. 'Well, what do you know?'

'But if you've been in an…an altered frame of mind all these years,' Clara said. Yassen looked up with an expression of polite interest. 'Then doesn't that make you arguably innocent?'

'One would need some skill in the art of debate to argue that,' Yassen said, smiling.

'My point is that if you've found out all those things weren't _you_, you don't have to carry on in the same way anymore; you could change –'

'Oh my God, he tried to shoot you ten minutes ago and you're already going all redemptionist on him?' Roberta interrupted. 'You idealistic fig.'

'It takes effort to change one's whole life,' Yassen pointed out. 'Besides, as I explained to you earlier, Clara, good and evil as you see them are not rigidly defined. John Rider was a good man to me, and fought on the side that you would call evil.' He drew up his legs in front of him and rested his cheek on his knees. 'Except he wasn't.'

He was the oldest person in the room, but for a moment he looked more like a lost child than anything else. Alex supposed they all did, a bit: slumped, falsely calm, shoulder-to-shoulder round the edges of a cell that couldn't have been built for more than two people. Now that he came to think of it, he hoped that Scorpia weren't planning to leave them in there for any length of time. He was comfortable enough perched on the bed for the moment, but that couldn't last long. Taylor's stretched-out legs reached from the wall to the bed.

'Wait,' Eagle said, 'I'm hecka-confused.'

Alex sighed. 'My father was this double-agent working for MI6, trying to infiltrate Scorpia,' he explained. 'And he trained Yassen. Which is why Yassen generally doesn't kill me and why I wanted to look for him on my own. Now can we not discuss it anymore?'

'Just one more question, please,' Yassen said. 'I presume he was not really killed by MI6 on the bridge?'

'No. That was a setup to get him out.'

'Then how…?'

Alex shrugged, swallowing something hard in his throat. 'Scorpia found out. Bomb in a plane. Ash planted it.'

Yassen nodded calmly, but for one instant his eyes flashed. 'I see,' he said quietly.

'Mrs Rothman tricked me,' Alex said, his voice rising. 'When you sent me to Scorpia she showed me footage of Richmond bridge and said MI6 had done it when really she ordered the death herself. And I did a mission with Ash. He pretended to be working with me when he'd been a double-agent ever since he –' he stopped.

Yassen took a deep breath, shaking his head slowly. Then he spoke.

'Clara? I apologise.'

'Oh.' Alex twisted his head sideways to try and get a glimpse of her expression. 'Well, I'd say that's okay, but I think Roberta would hit me. And Alex would tut.'

'Yes, we would,' Roberta agreed. 'You got any eyeliner? I'm a bloody mess.'

Clara wordlessly handed over a stick of kohl and a pocket mirror, and Roberta began to slap on fresh sweeps of eyeliner straight over the old. As her eyes gained definition, her whole face seemed to grow sharper and more alert.

'That's better,' she declared, snapping the mirror shut. She looked at Yassen over the top of it. 'You really were shit-scared, weren't you, Gregorovich?'

'Don't attempt to psychoanalyse me, please, Roberta.'

'Sorry.' Roberta tapped the side of her head. 'Psychology student, you know. But you're right; it's a load of bullshit.' She sighed once. 'You know, Clara bullied me out of smoking as well. That was a life change it sucked to make.'

'Well, I would say it was one that was worth it.'

'Yeah.' Roberta stared hard at him for a few seconds, her expression unfathomable. 'Hey, did you say Mrs Rothman was here?'

'Yes.'

Roberta slumped back against the wall. 'Well, that makes my fucking night. It is nighttime, right?'

'Such _language_, dear,' said a voice from the hall. 'Yes, it is nighttime. Now, are you all caught up, as they say? Good.'

Julia Rothman stepped into view in front of the cell bars, followed by Ash and three armed guards.

'Say,' said Josh, who was sitting against the back wall of the cell, directly opposite the door, 'aren't you the one who trespassed in my garage?'

'And commented on your lovely drum kit. Yes, I am.' Mrs Rothman paused, taking them all in. 'It seems you have decided to return the favour by trespassing in my research facility.'

'Well, you kidnapped Rob,' Josh pointed out. 'We thought you were inviting us.'

'Indeed. I was rather hoping you would decide to "join the party,"' Mrs Rothman agreed. She turned to Ash. 'Mr Howell?'

Ash stepped forward. 'I've searched their cars as you asked,' he said. He gestured to one of the guards, who was laden down with several objects. 'A coat, an i-pod, a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, a pistol; army issue, and an electric guitar.'

'Hand me that last item,' Mrs Rothman said.

'Hey...' Roberta began.

'Oh yeah.' Alex sighed deeply. 'Sorry, Rob, I forgot to mention...I stole your guitar. Borrowed, that is. With intent to return if I saw you, seeing as you wanted me to start learning rhythm...'

'Don't touch it, you fucking _bitch_!' Roberta snarled, jumping up off the bed.

Mrs Rothman ignored her. 'An interesting selection,' she remarked. 'I wonder what gadgets they have managed to work in?'

'Give it _here_!'

'No gadgets,' Alex said heavily, pulling Roberta away from the cell door. 'It's just a guitar.'

'I believe our young heros are unequipped as they claim,' Mrs Rothman said. 'However, I don't feel inclined to give this guitar back now.' She leaned it against the wall of the corridor. Alex glanced sideways at Roberta and saw that her eyes were fixed on it, expression yearning. He knew how she felt. You could be in the most dire situations and still wish for tiny things: a hug from your friend, a glass of water, your favourite song...

'Well, Mr Howell.' Mrs Rothman gazed around the cell again, and for a moment delighted triumph was transparently obvious on her face. 'I must admit, I'm impressed. When he first kidnapped young Roberta I was a little annoyed at his recklessness, you see,' she added as an aside through the bars, 'but now look! Both Alex Rider and Yassen Gregorovich apprehended, five teenage subjects and a full SAS unit into the bargain! A sprat to catch a mackerel, I'm sure you will agree.'

'Subjects?' Jane asked flatly.

'Why, hasn't Yassen explained to you?' Mrs Rothman fluttered. Beside Alex, Clara was grinding her teeth. 'The brain surgery we used on him fifteen years ago has been considerably improved – ' She gestured to Ash – 'and we want to see if it will work on a respectable citizen. That was the ostensible aim that would have made Roberta's kidnap worthwhile, and now, as I said – five! And then there are you four men…' Her eyes drifted over K Unit. 'Yes, I will be very interested to see whether it works on you,' she whispered.

'_Fuck_ no!' Taylor shouted, leaping towards the cell door. One of the guards raised a gun; Alex grabbed Taylor around the chest and wrestled him down.

'_Don't be an idiot_,' he hissed. He stared up at the people on the other side of the bars. Julia Rothman was smirking now, her eyes alight with cruel pleasure. But Ash didn't look entirely happy.

'What about Gregorovich?' he demanded.

Mrs Rothman turned to him, smiling. 'Don't fret, Mr Howell; I haven't forgotten.' She looked at Yassen. 'You failed to complete your assignment, Mr Gregorovich. How many chances do I have to give you? Well, if Scorpia cannot have your admirable services one way, we can have them another. The operating theatre is up and ready to go.' She smiled coldly. 'Did you really think that you would be able to simply walk into a Scorpia facility? We were expecting you. And now you're going to be the first.'

She gestured, and one of the guards stepped forward, gun raised, and slammed back the barred door to the cell.

'Line up against the wall,' he ordered. The others looked to Alex, but at a nod from him they drew back. K Unit had already obeyed.

Wolf looked to be mouthing obscenities. Alex could practically hear the wheels spinning in his mind, but he wasn't coming up with anything.

'No,' Yassen said quietly. He still looked composed, but very pale.

'Yes,' Mrs Rothman said. She wasn't smiling any more, but Alex could see it in her eyes. 'It will be nice to have you back on board. And who knows; once you're done in the theatre, maybe we can have you take care of your precious Alex Rider yourself.' Her gaze flickered to the side, meeting Alex's directly. 'I'm afraid that you are one person on whom it would be quite useless to experiment, my dear,' she said. 'I would much rather see you dead.'

Ash's eyes gleamed. Yassen was on the balls of his feet, instinctively searching for an escape route, though there was obviously none. One of the guards seized his arm; the other pointed his gun at the rest of them.

'Yassen!' Roberta said suddenly. He half-turned. She pushed forward – Alex caught his breath as the second guard raised his gun – got a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him full on the mouth.

The first guard twisted both Yassen's arms behind his back and pulled. Yassen bent his head, leaning into the kiss as he was dragged backwards. Roberta moved with him until the second guard jabbed his rifle into her chest; then Alex seized her hand and pulled her back.

Yassen paid no heed to the guards as he was manhandled out of the cell. His eyes locked with Roberta's, then with Alex's, not blinking until he was pulled out of sight down the corridor. Mrs Rothman spared them one derisive glance and then followed.

Roberta took a gasping breath. It might have been a sob. She was gripping Alex's hand so tightly that he thought she might break his fingers.

'_Fuck,_' he said loudly.

Yassen didn't think he'd ever been thinking so hard of ways to escape in his life, but it wasn't doing him any good. There was a guard on either side of him, one behind with the gun, and, more to the point, Ash. They were taking no chances.

He sucked in air, wanting to scream. Roberta's kiss burned on his lips; Clara's words rang in his ears. _You don't have to carry on in the same way anymore…you could change…_It was so strange…in a way he felt freer than he had ever done before, almost _happy_…but only for a few minutes more. _Stupid, weak_…Roberta was right, it was just like having another cigarette when you were supposed to be giving up smoking. Too cowardly to take the tough option. _Maybe I could have got us all away if I hadn't had to be indecisive…but I didn't know about _John…

'May I speak to you, Mrs Rothman?' Ash said behind him.

'Of course.' The rap of Julia Rothman's high heels on the floor stopped. She spoke to the guards. 'Take him on to the theatre. Stay on guard once he's in.' The guards marched Yassen off round a turn in the corridor, and she and Ash were alone.

'Yes, Ash?'

'Having Gregorovich kill Rider…it has poetic justice, but I'm worried about what he'll pull if we leave him in there. Shouldn't we just…'

Mrs Rothman gave him her _don't-criticise-me-please_ look. 'I would dearly love to make Alex Rider suffer,' she said coldly. 'However, in this case I am inclined to agree with you – though of course the point had already occurred to me. I thought that the idea of having one kill the other was worth mentioning at the time, just to worry them a little, but you are right. We are serious people.'

She pointed back down the corridor.

'Go and kill Rider. Do it now.'

'That _BITCH!_' Roberta shrieked, slamming her fist into the metal bars. '_OW!_'

'Oh, bloody hell,' Jane muttered.

'Okay, everyone,' Wolf said loudly, 'just keep calm, we're going to think of a way out of this –'

'Everybody _quiet_!' Clara bellowed. Silence fell. Wolf gaped at her.

'Thanks,' she said. 'Rob, I need your bra.'

'_What_?' Roberta exclaimed incredulously. 'No; get your own bra!'

'Sorry, it's got to be yours,' Clara said.

'_Fine_,' Roberta huffed. 'All you fish turn your backs.'

Alex turned obediently to face the wall of the cell, though he couldn't imagine what Clara could be about. When he turned back, Roberta was wriggling her shirt back into place and Clara was catching the bra Roberta had just thrown her.

Black lace with fuchsia-pink polka-dots. Was it ridiculous that his face was burning.

'Thanks,' Clara said. She bit into the fabric and ripped right along the bottom of the cups. Wolf said, 'wow!' and Roberta said, 'OY!'

'_Relax_, darling, I'll make it up to you,' Clara said with an eye-roll, tugging a length of wire out of the torn cloth.

'Any particular reason why you're ruining my bra?' Roberta demanded.

'Because Jane and I both wear tee-shirt bras. I need the underwire.' Clara began to bend the wire back and forth, until the stressed metal broke. She held up the snapped-off length and turned to K Unit. 'I don't suppose any one of you fine gentlemen knows how to pick a lock?'

There was a moment's silence. Then Wolf wordlessly stepped forward and took the wire.

'That's…actually a pretty good idea,' Alex said as he knelt by the door and set to work. 'Seriously, how did you think of that?'

'Remember that book of poems that started all this? I'm a budding author, Alex; I spend all my time figuring out ways for characters to escape from sticky situations. Always wanted to use this one.' Clara gave a little spin. _Yup, _Alex thought, _definitely hysterical. Still, at least she's productive-hysterical_.

'By the way, Rob,' Clara said, 'what the heck was with the whole –'

'Shut up, shut _up_,' Roberta groaned, covering her face.

'Yeah,' Jane muttered, 'I was wondering that too.'

'Alright,' Roberta sighed. 'The night I got kidnapped we went out in the snow, walking and talking…'

'In the snow, in the moonlight?' Clara asked. 'That's so romantic!'

'No it wasn't; it pretty much sucked. I tried to kiss him and he got all stressy.'

'Ouch.' Clara gestured with her fist. 'I _knew _that Russian bastard wasn't telling us everything! Well, I'd forget it if it didn't go too well on the snow-walk, Rob; he seemed pretty into it this time round.'

'_Shut up_!' Roberta said again.

'Hey!' Wolf called. He pushed the door and it swung open.

For a moment they all stared at the aperture, and Alex knew what they were thinking. There could only be one reason for them not to rush immediately towards safety, and they all had to be wondering the same thing. How did things stand? What had changed? Did they care enough?

'Yassen,' Josh said.

Wolf heaved a huge sigh that became a growl. 'I suppose we're going to have to go rescue him, aren't we?' he snapped.

Clara looked at him sidelong, her expression darkly humorous.

'Well, you said it.'

**A/N: I am…actually pretty jealous of Roberta at the moment. Clara was going to have that role originally, but then I thought, no, she's already too much of a Mary-Sue, Roberta is more in touch with the dark side…**

**That kiss? It was totally based on that bit in 'Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back' where Princess Leah kisses Han Solo just before he goes into the carbon-freeze machine. Oh, and I know the word for a character like Roberta now! It's 'tsundere.' Isn't that awesome! *Is overexited.* Coming next week: a lecture on the meaning of the word 'tsundere.'**

**Also, people, TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF SCORPIA RISING. Which I am NOT obsessed with, I HATED it, there is just one particular character who was so shockingly pathetically underused by Anthony Horowitz that I am STILL SPITTING WITH RAGE OVER HERE.**

**I make no mentioned of the fact that he RUINED Smithers. **

**True**


	31. Chapter 30: Escape

**Chapter 30: Escape**

**Disclaimer: **If I had owned Alex Rider would I have betrayed him and left him to die in the desert of Writer's Block hacked through with an electric beater at full speed in one hand and a steel-edged keyboard in the other for the sake of the money? _Would I?_

**A/N: Yay! An update without a months-long gap in between! What has it been, eighteen days? *Counted*. That's not bad, guys. **

**And now for the drama-drama and the Yassen-epic and the Rothman-in-face-of and the ninja-Alex and the lines that have been being saved up for three years and stuff! Do you see why these chapters are a little hard to write? **

'Quietly!' Alex hissed. Wolf ducked through the cell door first and the others followed, Alex swinging in behind them and pulling the grille shut as he went. Roberta immediately snatched up her guitar case from where it was leaning against the wall. Alex was tempted to tell her to leave it, but he knew it would only lead to argument.

They hurried up to the end of the corridor, where the automatic doors were still sealed shut. Roberta reached them first and hesitated, looking to Alex.

He nodded. 'Smash.'

Roberta rammed the headstock of the guitar into the toughened plastic panels. At the first blow a spider's web of cracks appeared; at the second the neck of the guitar went straight through. Alex held his breath, but no alarm sounded. Fox and Snake darted forward and helped to push the cracked plastic out of the frame, leaving a hole big enough to climb through.

'Mind yourselves on the edges,' Fox said.

Out in the main corridor, Alex quickly took stock. His friends and K Unit were crowded before him, too large a group to hope to manoeuvre undetected through the complex. He took a deep breath. They'd been driving for most of the last night and it was well into the evening now; though he'd had worse, he wanted to sleep. His nerves were humming, chills pricking between his shoulder-blades. It was that horrible moment when you almost wished you were back in your cell, when anything was better than the game of hide-and-seek that was about to come.

He hoped he looked like Wolf: keyed up but focussed, and not in the least bit panicky. At least this was Wolf's job.

'Right,' Wolf whispered. 'The ward is to the left, main exit to the right. Cub and I'll go after Gregorovich, the rest of you get out and don't wait for us. Fox, Eagle, Snake, you're responsible, got that?'

'Sir,' Snake said shortly, and the others nodded.

Wolf flapped his hand. 'Go!'

Alex watched them hurry off down the corridor with a sinking feeling.

'They are so screwed,' he murmured.

Wolf was already at the corner of the corridor.

'Hurry up, Cub!' he called. Alex ran forward to join him. 'Keep low…'

They ducked around the corner and, finding the corridor stretching long and empty ahead of them, broke into a sprint. Alex tried to land lightly on his toes; their footsteps seemed horribly loud to him, clattering off the walls.

'Shit, which way?' Wolf muttered.

'Right!' Alex said. The two of them swerved, to the right, and in a few more strides Alex recognised the white, sterile hospital décor closing in around them. At least they were going in the right direction – and much good would it do them. He must have been mad to let them split up and waste time when their situation was so precarious. In all probability he and Wolf would get caught before they reached Yassen. In all probability Yassen would turn on them again the second it suited him. In all probability they were all going to die.

And yet something – Clara's search for redemption, Roberta's search for meaning, his own need for answers – kept him pounding up this corridor back into the heart of the complex, while behind him his reason, his experience and a significant chunk of his conscience clawed at his heels and screamed at him to turn back.

* * *

Yassen's bullet-wound was throbbing. The smell of disinfectant brought back memories as only a smell can: memories of the month after he had been shot by Damian Cray – the first time he had ever needed hospital care himself, and the first time he had visited a hospital since his mother had been dying.

It seemed a silly thing to worry about, but the smell and the bright lights were also giving him a headache.

Across the room from him, a woman with light blonde hair twisted tightly back from her face was snapping on a pair of latex gloves. Her pallor seemed to match the blank expression in her eyes; no lipstick or emotion to relieve the emptiness.

_Is this yourself you're describing?_ his mind asked wryly. Yassen considered fighting. There was a Browning 9mm pistol pressing into his spine, but he could lash backwards with his elbow, spin, take the guard by surprise…to his right, an Indian man in a white coat was swabbing down what could only be the operating table. He had livid bruises forming on his forehead and throat – Alex or one of the soldiers had clearly already got to him, but now that he had come round he wasn't getting any rest. And Yassen realised he was sick of killing. The man was sending occasional nervous glances his way as he worked, and though it was pathetic that he would work for Scorpia when he didn't have the stomach to handle violence, Yassen didn't have it in him to turn that scorn into murder. Oh, he was sure he still _could_; assassins didn't go soft overnight. But he didn't want to. Not after the revelation of what had happened to his mind – if not a completely clean slate, at least an emptier one than before.

What then? Fight without killing? Knock them all unconscious? Impossible! Yassen knew that if he wanted to have a prayer of battling his way out of this, he couldn't afford a shred of mercy, or they would kill him first. But maybe that would be better than being Julia Rothman's puppet. Whip round, land one good punch on the guard behind him, go down in a hail of hot lead and say goodbye to it all. And yet there was a part of him that still clung stubbornly to life – the part closest, perhaps, to his just-kissed lips, or to the bullet-hole that reminded him of what he had once gone through for Alex.

His wound throbbed.

'We're ready!' the woman called. Yassen rose on the balls of his feet. _To be or not to be_. Submit and walk to his fate with dignity, or fight?

The guards didn't give him a chance to decide. They lifted him bodily and dragged him to the table.

'Operating gown?' the Indian man asked, gesturing to Yassen's clothing.

'Put him out first. Anaesthetic.'

The man – the anaesthetist – pulled a metal rack on wheels up beside the operating table. Bags of fluid swung from the rail at the top. He chose one, unwound a length of clear plastic tubing from it, fixed in a syringe.

One guard was pinning each of his arms, and the third his legs. The guard on his right shifted his fingers slightly so that the woman could strap a pressure cuff around Yassen's upper arm. She tugged his sleeve up, exposing the inside of his elbow.

He had never been afraid of needles, but he felt sick now. He knew that if he didn't fight back in the next ten seconds he wouldn't be able to. He tensed himself – and then all of them jumped in the air as the door banged open and hit the wall.

Alex Rider burst into the room, Wolf right on his tail. The three guards whirled round to face the new threat, and Yassen jerked upright as their hands released him.

'Hold him down!' the woman shrieked. One of the guards remembered himself and turned back, tackling Yassen back to the table. At the same time he felt a stinging pain in the crease of his elbow. The anaesthetist had jabbed the needle into his vein.

The other two guards aimed their guns, but before they could fire, Alex's hands came up. He was clutching a fire extinguisher that he must have found in the corridor outside. He squeezed the black triggers together and pressurized foam sprayed out, whipping into their eyes and blinding them. Alex dashed forward, now swinging the fire extinguisher like a club. It caught the first guard on the side of the head, crumpling him to the ground. Wolf swerved around Alex and his two antagonists and seized the guard pinning Yassen around the neck, one hand scrabbling for the holstered gun at his hip. Yassen tried to rise, but his head whirled; the strength seemed to be rushing out of him like water. Wolf and the guard disappeared out of his field of vision. He could hear a grunt, screams, the splatter of foam, a gunshot. He raised his newly-freed arm and fumbled for the needle. His fingers were already clumsy; then another hand appeared and jerked the plastic tubing. There was another stab of pain, the needle slid out of his arm and blood followed it.

'_Woah_, cub, you can't just hoick an IV out like that!' Wolf exclaimed from somewhere behind him.

'This is hardly…the time for medial niceties…' Yassen said breathlessly. He tried to sit up and his head spun.

'This is fricking anaesthetic, Wolf!' Alex yelled, gesticulating so that the IV swung like a pendulum from his hand.

'Oh.' Wolf looked Yassen over. 'Oh, shit. Can you hear me, Gregorovich?'

'Yes.' Yassen pushed himself gingerly upright, flexing his numbly tingling fingers. He swung himself round so that his legs slid off the operating table, stretching until his toes touched the floor.

'That's good; get up slowly…' Wolf's hand hovered above his arm, ready to catch him. Yassen breathed in deeply, took a firm hold of his mind, forcing it to work through the haze of drugs, and stood.

'Phew!' Alex said. 'We may just conceivably get out of this.'

Yassen chuckled a little, rubbing a hand across his eyes. His eyes flickered over the room. None of the images he was seeing quite seemed to connect up, and it took him a few moments to ascertain that the two doctors and the guards were all lying crumpled and unconscious on the floor. Not bad. Not bad at all.

'Fire extinguisher, Alex?' he asked, bending to lift the extinguisher from the floor. His muscles seemed to be working, though they weren't enthusiastic about it.

'MI6 never give me a gun. I have to get creative.'

'It worked very well, I must admit,' Yassen said, and smashed the butt of the extinguisher through the screen of the surgery computer.

'The fuck?' Wolf demanded.

'Ash's brain and body modifications are the result of very recent research,' Yassen said. 'The information and equipment stored here may still be unique. If so, I propose to put them out of action. Pour sterilising alcohol over the surgical equipment.'

While Wolf complied, Yassen stuck a sheaf of papers into the sparking monitor of the computer. An edge began to smoulder; Yassen blew it into a flame and tossed the papers onto the operating table, now soaked and smelling sharply of alcohol. It took only seconds; the alcohol caught alight and a sheet of flame spread all over the table, floor and trolley of equipment.

'Hopefully that will catch,' Yassen said. 'Where are the others?'

'We managed to break out of the cell,' Alex answered. 'The others are, with a bit of luck, escaping. But I wouldn't count on it.'

'No.' Yassen stepped away from the crackling flames. 'We should hurry and find them.'

For a moment he felt not only giddy but sick, and grabbed the door-handle as the floor lurched beneath him. 'Well, we should_ walk_, at least.'

* * *

Julia Rothman was staring blankly at the cell door. It was only swinging open a very little; a tiny announcement to calamity. More convincing evidence was the shattered automatic door behind her.

Mrs Rothman stamped down on one of the chunks of broken plastic, crushing it beneath her high heel. Then she rounded on the guard beside her.

'What is the meaning of this? I thought I gave an order for a guard to be stationed here!'

'I'm sorry, ma'am, no order came through…'

'I don't remember you giving any such order, Mrs Rothman,' Ash said.

'And what do you have to say for yourself?' Mrs Rothman demanded, turning on him.

'It was like this when I found it.'

'And why didn't you go after them straight away?'

'Mrs Rothman, the scent trail splits out in the corridor. It seems they separated.'

'Separated? Ridiculous! Why did they separate?'

Ash ignored the question. 'Anyway, I thought that rather than chase after one group or the other, I would radio for you. We need to call out the guards; throw a net round the compound.'

'You are quite right.' Mrs Rothman collected herself. 'In which directions to the trails lead?'

'One group seems to be heading for the main foyer. The others are heading in the opposite direction, towards the back of the complex.'

'I see.' Mrs Rothman considered. 'They may possibly be heading for the hangar. We have hoverboards there…they must not be allowed to get hold of them; it would make their capture significantly more difficult. Ash, go that way; kill anyone who appears there. You: radio the rest of the guards. Have them fan out around the front of the compound. We will go there now. Hurry.' She swept out of the cell, her stilettos clacking.

The guard threw a frightened glance at Ash. Ash rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly and then dashed away.

* * *

Fox had done his fair share of shepherding kids to safety. In some ways it was a good job, because afterwards nobody claimed you'd been evil to do it. But in others it was a very bad job, because you couldn't tell yourself, _calm down, it doesn't matter that much, just chill and focus and pretend it's a drill_. Be detached about kids? That would just be cold.

But sometimes he wished he could just be cold about it. Like now. They were moving in a tight bunch, with Snake and Eagle leading and himself bringing up the rear, and his stomach was churning with a mixture of fear and frustration. Why couldn't those kids move faster? Why couldn't they make less noise? Why couldn't they have full military training, so that they could all split up and some of them make it to safety? This crowd of eight people was a sitting target.

But he knew that his anger with them only came from his desire to see them safe. They were damned cool kids. _Why this?_ he thought. _Why here? Why now? Fucking spies and assassins; who do they think they are?_

They had left the prison block behind and stumbled through a series of corridors that could have belonged to any small business; now they emerged into a large, open-plan room. It was a weird mix of old and modern, with blackened beams like those in a barn in the three-storeys-high ceiling, soft blueish lighting and a large, curving reception desk. Two of the walls – those facing out onto the open air rather than linking into the rest of the buildings – were made of glass, and Fox realised they were inside the main reception building they had seen when they first broke into the compound, the one which Yassen and Wolf had explored? Had they found anything – booby-traps or sensors – that he and his men would need to worry about? Too late to regret their not being here now.

Peering through the glass, now black with night, he had a clear view of the open space outside, and could even catch a glimpse of the fence. The gate – it was right there, beyond the door. Every cell in his body yearned towards it, but at the same time he felt horribly exposed, in the high-ceilinged room with the glass all around. Surely an escape was too good to be true. Surely guards would appear and drag them back.

Snake gestured, and they dashed across the open space to crouch behind the desk. Fox found himself jammed in next to Roberta, khakis to jean-clad thigh. She looked strained and dishevelled, but she also looked ready to kill. She was one certainly one person who could stand up to Scorpia, with a little training. Was she still carrying her guitar? Fox glanced at her incredulously. This girl was fucking with his perception of life. That kiss with Gregorovich? Things had already been crazy enough, but it had been at that point that he'd known his mind had snapped.

'Probably cameras,' Snake was whispering. 'Not much we can do about it though. Does everybody remember where we parked the cars?'

'Yes.'

'Right.' Fox took over. 'On the word go, just run hell-for-leather for the fence. Boys – ' Eagle and Snake – 'wait back to help anyone who can't vault. God help us all. Three, two, one – GO!'

He sprang over the desk, and all hell broke loose.

Black-uniformed figures were spilling into the room from the staircase and from the outer door, running to cover the whole hall, closing in. There was a crack, and a searing pain in his leg. It didn't feel like a thread of fire; it felt like being kicked by a mule. The muscle simply dropped him, and he fell, taking in the rest of the scene in flashes. Taylor was trying to drag Clara down and put both their hands up at the same time. A guard went to grab Josh, and Josh landed one hell of a punch. Jane happened to be between Eagle and Snake, and they both moved automatically to shield her, raising their hands. Roberta had shrugged her guitar off her shoulders and into her hands, holding it as though she was going to stab someone with the headstock. She whirled, her face a battle-mask, rounding on some unseen enemy – then a guard grabbed her from behind, sending her sprawling.

The guitar clattered at the feet of Julia Rothman.

One hand on his leg, which didn't seem to be bleeding too badly though it hurt like hell, Fox dragged himself up on one elbow. Mrs Rothman, incongruously groomed and satisfied opposite the guards and their breathless captives, was walking slowly into the middle of the room. Each click of her high heels sounded loudly in the sudden quiet.

'Well, well,' she asked, 'taking a walk, are we?'

Roberta's teeth clenched and she shifted as though she would spring. Mrs Rothman smiled, and brought her foot down squarely on the guitar.

The Non-Conformists had spent so long being shouted at by Roberta for so much as touching that guitar that their screams came before hers did. Roberta gasped and then stopped breathing all together, all the blood training from her face. The stiletto heel came down again, this time on the fret board, there was a snap, and Roberta shrieked and threw herself and Mrs Rothman.

The guard who had knocked her down before jumped after her, grabbing both her arms from behind.

'You bitch!' Roberta howled. 'You evil murdering motherfucking bitch –'

'Rob!' Clara said, short and sharp. She didn't have to add anything. Her words cut off Roberta's screams like a knife. Roberta went completely still and closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again they were full of calm contempt.

Clara's mouth was trembling and her eyes full of tears, but she met Roberta's gaze steadily over Mrs Rothman's shoulder. For a moment you could have heard a pin drop in the high-ceilinged reception.

'Well, if you will bring it into dangerous situations, what do you expect?' Mrs Rothman said, lifting her foot off the guitar. Clara was reminded of a story a university admissions officer had told at school about students who had prepared speeches for their interviews and ploughed on with them no matter what the interviewers said.

'I think your little excursion is over,' Mrs Rothman continued. 'Don't you think all this breaking in and breaking out is rather tiresome?'

'Tiresome?' Roberta barked a laugh. 'Come on! We're _teenagers_ and we still got out! If it had just been Alex and K Unit they'd have beaten you! We almost beat you as it is!'

Mrs Rothman laughed too; hers was a tinkling scream in disguise. 'Almost beat us? Your little friends only gained access to this compound because we allowed them.'

'And it's because you "allow" them that it's so fucking hilarious. You guys just sit around killing yourselves with your own smugness. Alex is ten times better than the best man in your whole self-satisfied evil corporation; he beat Scorpia twice, he beat _you_ so many times I've lost count –'

'But what difference does it make to you in your present situation, my dear? You have made your fair share of naïve misjudgements of character, if I may say so; they have landed all of you here, and here you will die. You are nothing but a dramatic little madam –'

'And you are a sad, crazy, twisted old lady. Now get out of my face; I can see the streaks in your foundation.'

Mrs Rothman's eyes flashed. Her hand darted, and suddenly she was holding a pistol. She aimed it point-blank between Roberta's eyes. 'You'll be the first!' she snarled.

Roberta glanced to the side, looking at something over Mrs Rothman's shoulder. Mrs Rothman registered the gesture, just as an arm went round her neck, jerking her backwards away from Roberta. Her hand with the gun flew outwards; before she could bring it round, a sharp point jabbed into the side of her neck. She froze.

Alex and Wolf came bursting into the room and skidded to a halt, taking in the scene. Yassen had been a few strides ahead of them, and even in the midst of the crisis Alex found himself marvelling at how quickly the Russian had taken control of the scene. The Non-Conformists and K Unit were surrounded by maybe a dozen armed men, but Yassen was holding Julia Rothman, the end of the wire they had used to break out of the cell poised at her throat, and none of them dared to fire.

Roberta blew a large, pink bubble in her gum.

'Put down your weapons!' Yassen ordered.

The guards hesitated.

'Put them down, for goodness' sake!' Mrs Rothman cried.

There was a scramble as the guards hurried to obey. One by one they crouched down, placing their guns on the ground.

'Take the pistol, please, Roberta,' Yassen said, nodding down and Mrs Rothman's gun. 'I can't move my hands.'

Roberta darted forward and twisted the pistol out of Mrs Rothman's grasp. She tilted it to examine the gleaming black barrel, popping her gum and sucking it slowly back into her mouth.

'Cool,' she said.

Yassen tugged Mrs Rothman back a step.

'K Unit, take a gun each.'

'Can I have one?' Alex asked eagerly from behind him.

'No!' Yassen snapped.

'You let _Roberta_ –'

'Oh, very well. A pistol. _Not_ a machine-gun.'

'Yes!' Alex grinned, darting past him to snatch up one of the pistols. K Unit had finished arming themselves. Keeping a tight hold on Mrs Rothman, Yassen nodded to the guards.

'Now line up against the wall. Don't speak. Do not attempt to move. Everybody, walk towards the exit.'

He began to shuffle backwards towards the door, still pulling Mrs Rothman with him. The others grouped together and followed.

'Can we get all the way back to the cars like this?' Alex whispered, falling in beside Yassen.

'No.' Yassen's face was tight. 'They'll follow us; they can surround us once we get into the woods. We need a quicker way.' He tugged on Mrs Rothman's hair. 'How can we get out?'

For a moment Mrs Rothman stayed silent. Her teeth were gritted and her eyes shut tight. Then she spoke in a thick, reluctant voice.

'The biggest of the out-buildings. There are hoverboards. A dozen.'

'Perfect.' Yassen spun them both round so that he could walk forwards. Ahead of him, Taylor threw open the door, letting the frosty night air rush in.

'Don't follow us,' Yassen threw over his shoulder, and stepped out into the night.

Gravel crunched beneath their feet. There were no stars. Light from the complex illuminated everything up to the boundary fence; beyond, the forest was in shadow.

'Which way?' Yassen asked. Mrs Rothman nodded her head very slightly.

'Right.'

They veered to the side. Glancing over his shoulder, Alex saw a silhouette slip out of the building and crouch, watching them. One of the guards had disobeyed Yassen's order – and there wasn't a lot they could do about it. At least half the men were still armed. There might well be more elsewhere in the complex, hurrying to back them up. They were horribly exposed: Fox, Alex now noticed, was limping, Yassen was dragging Julia Rothman, the whole group formed a huge, clumped-together target and it was only Mrs Rothman's presence in their midst which prevented the guards from picking them off one at a time.

They stopped outside one of the wooden outhouses.

'Is this the one?' Yassen asked.

'Yes.'

Wolf pushed the door open and looked inside.

'What do you see?' Yassen called to him.

'Boards,' Wolf answered. 'Two racks. And another door at the far end; we can go straight through and come out by the fence without presenting a target to the main building.'

'Good. Go inside and get those boards down.'

They hurried single-file into the outhouse and Yassen heard the clatter of metal and tramping feet inside. Roberta waited, hovering in the doorway.

'They're working!' Alex yelled from inside. Roberta stepped forward.

'You know, I really should be thanking you,' she said to Mrs Rothman, 'because if you hadn't sadistically smashed my guitar, I might still not have the heart to do this with it.' She swung the guitar up. Yassen jumped clear as she brought it crashing down on Mrs Rothman's head.

Someone must have been watching from the main building, because the instant Mrs Rothman was down, a siren whooped into life, and bright arc lamps exploded into life all around the edge of the compound, drenching every square foot in glaring white light. Hidden panels in the walls of the main building slid down, revealing machine guns set into alcoves behind them.

'In,' Yassen said, grabbing Roberta by the arm and pushing her forward into the outhouse. 'Board, now.' He turned and slammed the door too, shutting out the worst of the light.

Roberta darted down the narrow shed, filled with the bodies of her friends struggling with their boards, and slid in next to Clara, snatching a board down from its rack.

'Cool gun,' Clara said briskly. 'Me jealous.'

'Thanks,' Roberta answered. Then she caught Clara's arm and leaned in close, so that their hair swung to hide them from the others, and whispered, 'are you really just talking about the gun, or is it, like, symbolism?'

Clara laughed. 'It's cool, babes, get in there.'

'You really think I should?' Roberta asked, suddenly vulnerable.

'I think that we should not count our chickens before they're hatched, by which I mean we should get out of this before we go fishing. But yes, totally.'

Clara kick-started the board and its lifter-fans spun into life. 'This is beyond cool!' she yelled over the roar now filling the building.

'Shit, what are we going to do about those guns…?' Alex muttered, pulling the door open a crack to peer out. He looked back over his shoulder at the others. 'Josh, what are you doing?'

Josh was on his hands and knees, reaching behind one of the racks.

'Hang on,' he said, 'there's like a thing behind here…you know…a power generator.'

'Wait, what?' Alex said. Josh didn't reply. He took a firm grip on a braid of cables and pulled.

There was a whirring sound and the entire complex plunged into darkness.

'Yes!' Alex shouted, punching the air.

'Go!' Wolf yelled. Grabbing their boards, they ran down the length of the shed towards the far door. Guards must be approaching from the main building even now, but it would take them time to find it in the dark. Nobody would be able to see them, the machine-guns, controlled by computer, would not be able to aim; they could hop quickly over the fence, lose themselves in the woods and fly to safety –

Alex skidded to a halt, and felt someone else – Taylor – slam into him from behind. The door had swung open, and a dark figure was filling it, blocking the way.

When Mrs Rothman had led them to this warehouse, she had been playing one last card. She hadn't left it unguarded. Ash had been waiting for them.

'Get them!'

Alex looked over his shoulder. Mrs Rothman was up on her hands and knees; she was bleeding from the head, grabbing the doorframe to try and pull herself upright.

'Ash!'

Alex turned to face forward again. Mrs Rothman behind them, Ash in front. He gripped the gun he had taken so that his hand ached. Could he shoot? Would shooting be any use? Surely even Scorpia's superhuman modifications couldn't enable a man to dodge a bullet. But he couldn't stop the helpless fear that spread through him. It was in the new slant of Ash's eyes and his wolfen teeth. Everything about him screamed _predator_.

And he knew that he only had seconds in which to act. Any moment now, other guards would be arriving.

'Ash,' he whispered.

'Kill them!' Mrs Rothman shrieked.

There was almost no light, but Alex was sure that Ash could see them. His retinas glinted like a cat's. Their eyes met. Ash surveyed him for a moment, as though weighing him up. Then he shifted to the side.

'Thanks,' Alex muttered, darting past. He felt their arms brush in the narrow exit, and then he was out. He sprinted for the perimeter fence, throwing the board down in front of him and leaping on. Just like jumping on a skate-board, except that this board, instead of running straight along the ground, rose up. He pressed with his back foot and the board tilted, flying steeply upwards to clear the fence. The fans screamed at the rapid acceleration, and he could hear from the similar noise behind him that the others were following. Then he was level again, above the fence, over it. A single shot rang out – it seemed one of the guards had managed to aim at them after all – but there were no screams, no sound of a falling body. He twisted round to look, then gave a yelp as the board lurched under him, almost throwing him off. Oh God. He had no idea how to ride this thing.

'Shift your weight left and right to steer!' Yassen shouted. 'Sensors read your body-balance –'

Quickly Alex registered and copied Yassen's stance: knees bent, arms spread for balance, centre of gravity low. Yassen leaned forward and his board accelerated. Alex copied him and found himself shooting forward, heading straight for the first of the trees. His stomach lurched. He gritted his teeth, leaning hard to the left to steer between the trunks.

The board banked. He could feel the g-forces resisting his pushing legs, at the same time holding him in place as he tilted away from the vertical. He leaned onto his right foot, bringing the board back under him. It responded to his basic motions in the same way a skateboard or a surfboard would, but he had no idea whether the others were used to those sports and what they would make of it. And of course, this was much, much faster…

Yassen had found a more sparsely-grown route through the trees, and Alex took advantage of the straight line to test his control. Leaning left and right, as Yassen had said, turned the board. Leaning forward made it go faster; as he relaxed his crouch and stood more upright, he slowed. Pressing on the front foot made the board dip down, pressing with the back made it rise, and it seemed that the sensors could tell the difference between a person leaning forward to go faster and a person pressing harder on their front foot while keeping the position of their upper body the same. Even with the trees whipping past and God-knew-what pursuing him, he couldn't help but marvel at the quality of the technology. A tall bush loomed up ahead of him. He leaned back a little and hopped it effortlessly. A branch swung overhead; he bent his knees without shifting his weight and the board continued straight and level while he ducked. And suddenly he wasn't tired and scared any more. He was exhilarated. He leant forward little by little, feeling the wind whip his hair off his face, and sped up until he was inching up alongside Yassen. His outflung hands caught the air. His legs were aching with holding their crouch. He sucked in a deep breath and whooped.

He heard someone – it might have been Clara – shout something behind him. The wind reduced the words to a meaningless garble.

'I can't hear you!' he called.

There was a hum of lifter fans behind him and then Clara appeared in the corner of his field of vision.

'I said, "are we going back to the cars?"'

'Oh, I –' Alex began, then turned to look at her properly. '_Bloody hell_, Clara, slow down!'

'But it's fun – argh!' Clara swerved to avoid a tree and nearly tumbled off the board.

'Oh God,' Alex groaned.

'No, we are not going back to the cars,' Yassen said, dropping back a little. 'It is where they would expect us to go. As long as we stay in the air, we are virtually untraceable.'

It was true. Now that they were flying straight and level, the purr of the lifter-fans was almost inaudible; it was only when one of them rose or dropped sharply to dodge a branch that the noise rose.

'But my car will be okay until we get back, right?' Clara asked.

'You think? They'll probably key the paint, douse it in petrol and set it on fire. It's what I'd do,' Josh said.

'What? No!'

'Everybody, the trees are getting thicker,' Yassen said. 'Please concentrate.'

They slowed as the vague trail the Russian had been leading them along faded. The next minutes were hair-raising, almost worse than being back in the compound. Alex trusted himself to more-or-less handle the turns, but he was terrified for his friends. What about Clara and Jane, who as far as he could tell had never done a voluntary day's sport in their lives? What about Taylor, who was so tall that he always tripped over his own feet? But somehow they all stayed with him. Clara kept tight on his and Yassen's tail, imitating their route; he assumed the others were doing the same. Even a slow-enough-not-to-die pace was faster than walking, and he knew it had been a good plan. If they had tried to climb the fence and run through the woods to the cars they would never have made it. The guards would have chased them down. This was better. And, he had to admit despite the danger, somewhat cool.

Clara's legs were aching and her eyes streaming with the wind. She wondered if this was what Zen felt like: following the whitish-grey flicker of Alex's shirt through the blackish-grey of the forest, letting her mind go blank to everything else. The part of her that always insisted on overthinking everything knew that she was probably experiencing a ridiculous surge of beginner's luck. Think about it at all and she would probably crash and die.

That didn't stop it from being the most amazing experience on Earth, short of being on-stage.

Jane was beside her.

'Jane, Jane, we need to play on stage again!'

'What?'

'Performing, this is like performing –'

'This is _horrible_.'

'Oh. Sorry.'

'Duck!' Eagle yelled from behind them. Both of them crouched as a branch whipped over their heads.

The tangle of branches had been so thick that even without leaves they hid the sky. Now a patch of midnight-blue appeared. It was full of stars – ridiculously bright with no artificial light around – but a fleck or two of snow, blown across from some unseen cloud, drifted down. The ground was wet, the snowflakes tiny. It would be a long time before they settled.

Clara didn't have an ounce of concentration to spare from steering, but as the patch of sky flashed past she glanced up, just for an instant. The sky was more than just sky. It was like a breath of air. In the compound, and under the trees, she had almost forgotten that it existed.

Roberta watched as the snowflake caught in Clara's hair. Her friend turned her face towards light and openness, her expression one of wonder and happiness at something as simple as a star-studded sky. Roberta steered around the clearing, through the shadows. The stars and snow reminded her of that walk she had taken, pushed out into the fields to think about Alex and Yassen and what the hell good and evil were, anyway. Had she thought she could suck in clarity and freedom from the sky, like Clara had just done? Well, the gods had sent her a sign, if she liked. They had sent her Yassen. So did that make him good, or the field and the sky evil? She sighed, remembering the eider-grey softness of his hair.

Alex too noticed the gap in the trees, and noticed that the gaps were becoming more frequent, and thought that maybe that meant they were coming to the end of the forest and maybe that meant they were approaching civilisation and maybe, just maybe, that meant they might be going to get out of this alive.

Yassen noticed through the gaps that they sky was deep blue, not black, and realised instinctively, with the lift in spirits that completely natural action brings, that dawn was approaching.

It grew lighter and lighter. Yassen led them south, cutting off a loop of the road they'd driven up to get to the compound, heading for signs of human habitation. The Non-Conformists could now see one another's faces – or rather glance at them, for instants, in between fraught steering – and marvel at each other's cuts and bruises, the exhaustion and maturity which had completely changed them in the last few hours, or, conversely, how beneath the grime and lack of sleep they still seemed to be more-or-less the same people. Jane was calmed a little by Josh's expression. He was far away, painting in his head, and she felt that one nudge would make him forget everything and send him wandering off into the misty grey morning, up the shoulders of the hills that were now emerging as they left the trees behind, not trying to pin the view to canvas but simply drinking it in. Taylor looked Clara over, decided that she looked to be in one piece and that the battered look rather suited her, and smiled. Clara smiled back, and behind them Roberta tutted. She supposed that you would expect the sky to bring freshness and hope, if Taylor had been the one to come walking through your field.

'Here!' Yassen shouted. The village came upon them suddenly, the grey thatch blending with the hill, woodsmoke mingling indistinguishably with the morning mist. They began to come down, both from their height and from their high, because that was what it had been – or if they had been thinking deeply, like Roberta, then at least a trip. It wasn't only Josh who had felt the silent splendour of the morning – it had put Yassen more at peace than he had felt in years. Clara was overflowing with it. Even K Unit, none of them prone to flights of emotional fancy, had been appreciating it without words, just as Yassen had appreciated the realisation that it was dawn. And, as their boards skimmed lower, Clara wondered if it had been any healthier than a high. She began to realise that the calm she was feeling was in fact something like the eye of a storm: terror and danger behind them and a lot more exhaustion, awkwardness and pent-up hysteria about to follow. She hadn't slept all night; none of them had, they had been terrified half out of their minds more times than she liked to count, worried sick, and none of them were used to this hoverboarding…

Ahead of her – and it all looked a little soundless and like a slow-motion film, which confirmed her opinion that she was very tired and should also perhaps eat something – Yassen was touching down. He seemed to land as lightly as a feather, bringing his board down until it brushed the grass, slowing and then hopping off. But when the ground rose up under her own feet, it didn't do so elegantly. The board slammed into the ground and bounced one, like a skimmed stone. The impact jarred through her whole body. She was thrown forward, arms flailing, hit the ground, stumbled and would have fallen if Alex hadn't caught her.

'You – you idi – slick,' he said, shaking his head.

'Alex, you are a bloody hero,' Clara gasped.

'Damn straight I am. Now sit down and put your head between your knees and don't move until I say you can. Which will be never. God.' Alex swore for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

Taylor landed slightly more gracefully behind them. Alex shoved Clara at him and looked around. They were all there, all more-or-less in one piece. He caught Yassen's eye for a moment and looked hastily away, and his eyes fell on Fox instead.

'Hey, Ben!' he exclaimed, suddenly remembering. 'Your leg – '

Fox, who had been bending down to roll up his trouser-leg, squinted up at him, grinning.

'I think it's alright,' he said, turning his leg to examine a thin line of dried blood on his trousers. 'It's not bleeding any more, the bullet just clipped me.'

'And you hoverboarded on it?'

'I was only limping because the skin was pulling apart when I moved.' Fox shrugged. Wolf got down on one knee to examine his leg.

'Ew,' Clara said, looking at the gory red line.

'Could have been worse. Knocked me down for a moment.'

'So how on Earth did you and Wolf manage to find Yassen without getting caught?' Taylor asked Alex. 'They must have realised we'd split up.'

Alex shrugged. 'I guess trying to rescue him was so altruistic they didn't expect it,' he said.

'Sometimes stupid heroics pay off.'

'Sometimes. I suppose Mrs Rothman thought we were heading for the hover-board place, so she sent – sent Ash there to intercept us. And then she tricked us into going there.'

'But he let us go.'

_Thanks for bringing up the difficult topic, Taylor_, Alex thought. But when he looked up and met Taylor's eyes he felt suddenly calm. In all the stress Alex had almost forgotten how much he _liked _him. _We gotta play football again._

'Yes,' he said quietly. 'He did. No idea what that was about.'

Standing a little aside from the others, Roberta slid her guitar case off her shoulders, catching it on her elbows. She hesitated, seeming about to swing it round into her hands, but then stopped and hoisted it back onto her back. Yassen, watching, understood. She was afraid of what she would find inside. Looking made it real.

He understood how she felt. When you didn't trust people, objects mattered.

'You were quite impressive,' he told her.

Roberta snorted. 'Thanks,' she said, turning her head away. '…I suppose I should be thanking you for saving my life and shit.'

'You're welcome.'

'I find it a little weird that you're still holding my bra wire, though.'

Yassen glanced down at his hand. It was still curled tightly around the sharp wire he had used to threaten Julia Rothman.

'Oh, is that what it is?' he asked, unlocking his numb fingers. He held the wire out to her. 'I apologise.'

'What makes you think I want it?' Roberta snapped.

Yassen decided, just this once, to rise to the bait. 'Must you always be so contrary?'

'Must you always be so reasonable? Shut up laughing, you guys!'

Yassen turned to see that all the Non-Conformists were smirking at them, with the exception of Alex, who had his face hidden in his hands.

'I think,' Clara grinned, 'that you'll both feel better once you've had something to eat.'

'That's a great idea,' Wolf said, in an oddly hearty voice; possibly he was feeling the same way as Alex. 'Let's ditch the boards and –'

'No!' Clara said loudly.

Wolf stared at her. 'What?'

'It's mine!' Clara said, clutching her board to her chest. 'I am _not_ ditching it!'

'Oh, come off it – '

'You don't understand! I've been wanting one of these ever since the first time I picked up a sci-fi book! I need this board! It's my baby!'

'Mine's my baby too!' Taylor piped up.

Wolf breathed out hard through his nose. 'Fine. Keep them.'

Clara beamed. 'Car, hoverboard. It's a trade.'

'You know you're going to really regret that,' Alex said as they fell into step, walking down into the village.

'When will I regret it, frog?'

'Somewhere between here and wherever we stop walking, when you realise how heavy and awkward to carry it is.'

Clara shrugged. 'Maybe I'll be regretting it at that point,' she said, 'but _you'll _be regretting it for tomorrow and the rest of your life when I'm the one with a real, working hoverboard.'

'But you'll lend it to me,' Alex said, doing his best puppy-eyes. He slipped between Clara and Taylor and wrapped his arms round their shoulders. 'You'll both lend them to me, right guys? Please?'

'Now I'm not feeling so bad about carrying this board,' Taylor grinned, 'because it's worth a lifetime of favours.'

They were interrupted by Snake.

'Where _is_ everybody?' he demanded. They had just stepped out into the main square, with a small stone church on one side and the village hall on the other, and all the shops were dark and empty. 'I mean, I know it's a village at dawn, but this is ridiculous.'

'I'm _hungry_,' Eagle whined. 'Oh God, don't tell me nothing's open.'

'Of course nothing's open; it's the twenty-fifth of December,' Jane said.

They all turned to stare at her.

'Huh?' Alex said.

'Twenty-fifth of December,' Jane repeated. 'Christmas day.' There was a pause. 'It's the Christmas holidays, guys. It's all cold and yucky and wet and stuff. You must have seen this coming.'

At that moment the church bells started ringing. Their peals resounded round the square, one after another, tumbling down the octave.

'Yes,' Alex said, checking his watch without quite knowing why, since it only showed the time. 'You're absolutely right, Jane.'

'Guess I haven't really been keeping track,' Roberta said dryly.

'So nothing's going to be open then?' Eagle asked.

'I doubt it,' Yassen said. 'But it seems to me that since we are all rather exposed standing out here alone –'

'And cold, and hungry,' Taylor put in.

'Since we are all these things,' Yassen agreed, 'the best thing to do would be to go into the church and join the service. It will be warm, there will be witnesses in case Scorpia should happen to catch up with us, and refreshments will almost certainly be served when the service is over.'

'Yassen,' Clara said, 'that is the single best idea you have had in my presence, _ever_. Let's go.'

She led the way across the square and pushed open the door of the church.

**A/N: Because Clara is all about teh foodz. And teh religion also, though I don't know if I made that apparent in her character at all before. I forget. It was originally going to be a coffee shop, but then it was Christmas (a long, long time ago. Probably not even this last Christmas. OTL), and I thought it would be cool to make it Christmas, and now it probably shouldn't be Christmas because it's not seasonally appropriate but I just couldn't resist the incongruity of Yassen in church. You know he is secretly Russian Orthodox ;).**

**Also, I have been re-reading some of my earlier chapters and they cause me PHYSICAL PAIN. From henceforth, I am officially in the process of editing so as not to cause injury to literate people.**

**True Colours, over and out.**

**P.S. True counted wrong. She updated in June. BAD AUTHOR!**

**Does anybody even listen to my ramblings any more? *Sigh***


	32. Chapter 31: Consequences

**Chapter 31: Consequences**

**A/N: A crash-course in choral music for the uninitiated:**

**Soprano: High female voice.**

**Alto: Low female voice.**

**Tenor: High male voice.**

**Bass: Low male voice.**

**Descant: A high, decorative melody sung over the main tune. Normally stuck in the last verses of hymns and carols to make them more climactic.**

**Oh, and Duke of Edinburgh award: a challenge which can be taken at bronze, silver or gold level by British students, so called because it is sponsored by the Duke of Edinburgh. You have to do volunteering and learn a new skill, and finish by doing a hike and camping out. (I know this not because I've done it, but because my intrepid little sister Essence of Gold has.) It is mentioned in Snakehead that Alex has done one. I don't know if you've heard of it in your various countries, but it seems like a good excuse for being muddy and bedraggled.**

They slipped into the church just as the organ was playing the introduction to 'O Come, all ye Faithful.' Clara, Jane and Taylor were used to singing it at the end of the church service on Christmas morning and knew it by heart, and the others were at least familiar with the tune. All the mud, blood, hair dye and ripped combat trousers earned them several disapproving looks as they tiptoed to a pew at the back of the church, but when they joined in with the carol in four-part harmony the old ladies' glares turned to surprised approval. Standing close to Taylor, Alex found that he could follow the tenor part fairly easily. Roberta and Jane sang alto while Clara held the tune, and even K Unit followed along fairly tunefully. Clara launched into a soaring descant in the final verse.

'_Sing, choirs of angels, sing in exaultation…'_

Tired and exhausted though he was, and although Jack, Tom and all the other people he was used to spending Christmas with were far away and he and the other Non-Conformists had been too stressed to make any preparations back at home, Alex felt happy, belting out the carol at the top of his voice. There were worse ways to celebrate, and worse people to do it with. And maybe all the music practise Roberta had forced him to do really had paid off. He was almost doing well at this.

The carol drew to a close with a resounding set of chords on the organ, and Roberta muttered to Clara,

'Showoff.'

Clara shrugged and grinned. 'It's what I do.'

The minister was raising his hands, giving a final blessing.

'Go in the peace of Christ, to love and serve the Lord,' he said.

Immediately a babble of voices rose up around them, as people in the congregation put down their carol sheets and turned to greet friends.

'Great harmonising, guys,' Clara said, high-fiving Taylor.

'So you're bass too?' Josh asked Yassen. 'Very nice.'

'Thank you.'

Clattering sounds came from the back of the church as urns were filled and put on to boil, and trays of refreshments set out.

'Oh my God, food!' Taylor said, diving for the back of the church. Alex hurried after him.

'Excuse me,' an old lady said to them as they stood in the queue for tea and coffee. 'I would just like to say how lovely it is to hear a group of young people singing so beautifully together.'

'Thank you very much,' Clara answered, beaming. 'It's lovely for us to find a church that still does carols the traditional way. What a wonderful organ you have here.'

'It's very kind of you to say so, dear. We just recently raised enough money to have it restored, you see.'

'It shows,' Yassen said. 'Beautiful sound.' Alex noticed that, whether because he was tired or by choice, he wasn't bothering to conceal his accent, and the woman immediately asked him where he came from.

'Russia,' Yassen said through a mouthful of mince pie. He took a long gulp of coffee to wash it down. 'Excuse me. Russian Orthodox Christians believe that only the instruments God gave them – voices – should be used in church, so in Russia we don't have anything like your organ.'

'Love organ,' Taylor chimed in. 'You know what's really cool? Playing organ music on the electric guitar. Or the other way round.' Alex wasn't sure that any of the people now listening to their conversation would quite share Taylor's appreciation of the electric guitar, but he spoke with such charming enthusiasm that they all laughed and nodded. 'These are great mince pies, by the way,' he added.

Alex caught Taylor's eye at that point and they exchanged a sheepish grin. Taylor had five pies on his plate; Yassen was eating them at a rate of about one per mouthful. At any other time Alex would have worried about the fact that he and his friends were single-handedly demolishing the refreshments table, but right now he was just too hungry to care.

'Lots of milk, please,' he said to the lady who was preparing tea, and then dumped four heaped spoonfuls of sugar into the mug she gave him.

'You look as though you needed that,' she observed as he took a deep swig. 'It seems you and your friends have been in the wars a bit.'

'Yeah, uh…'

'Duke of Edinburgh award,' Jane said smoothly. 'Christmas Eve isn't really the ideal day to be doing it, but we had to find a time we could all do. And we got a bit…lost.'

'Oh, you poor things,' one of the tea ladies said, handing her another mince pie.

'I blame them,' Alex said, nodding at K Unit. 'They were meant to be looking after us.'

'If I'd had my way you wouldn't have done it at all,' Wolf said, glaring.

'Oh, come now,' Yassen said to him, with just a flicker of a smile. 'I'm sure it was a learning experience for them – '

Suddenly, the church door banged open.

Alex jumped, slopping tea over the rim of his mug, and spun round. What he saw made his stomach lurch. No less than ten armed men were dashing into the church.

'Freeze!' the foremost man shouted. The babble of conversation stopped. There were screams. A woman pouring tea let the hot water run over the top of the cup.

Alex was cursing himself. Had Scorpia found them so quickly? It had been stupid to come into the church, thinking that simply having witnesses present would protect them. They should have dialled nine nine nine.

'Oh, shit,' Eagle whispered behind him. 'It's the SAS.'

Alex's jaw dropped. 'The SAS?' he repeated, twisting round to look at K Unit. 'Are you sure?'

'Please remain calm!' The leading man had produced a loudhailer and was shouting through it, the echoes bouncing off the high stone ceiling. 'For your own safety, we are here to apprehend dangerous criminals.'

'Criminals in the plural?' Clara muttered.

The man looked straight at them. 'SAS unit K, Yassen Gregorovich and accomplices, raise your hands!' he ordered.

Whatever this was, there wasn't much he could do yet – not with ten semi-automatics pointing at him. Alex put his hands up.

'Alex, what the hell?' Roberta whispered. Alex wished he knew, but next moment the question as to the identity of their assailants was answered. Alan Blunt and Mrs Jones walked into the church.

'Blunt?' Alex said, dropping his hands a little.

'I repeat, keep your hands in plain sight above your head!' the man with the loudhailer yelled.

'Alex,' Blunt replied.

'What the hell are you doing here?' Alex demanded.

'I could ask you exactly the same question.'

'Now,' the lady who had complimented their singing said, 'what is the meaning of this?' She was tiny, but spoke in a tone that brooked no argument. Alex stared at her in astonishment – but then again, maybe having lived a long time gave you more courage than the average person. She certainly didn't seem at all worried by the guns.

'Now look here,' the vicar said, 'you can't just come marching into a house of God armed with dangerous weapons and –'

'Sir, you could potentially be charged with having harboured a known criminal,' Blunt snapped. 'Please allow these men to do their job.'

'Known criminals?' the first lady said. She patted Yassen's elbow. 'They are very good singers.'

'That man is an international assassin.'

At Blunt's words there was a gasp and a ten-foot circle opened up around Yassen. Someone flipped open a mobile phone and started videoing. Yassen looked unperturbed. His expression remained somewhere between 'amused' and 'put out.'

Clara spoke angrily.

'Excuse me, Mr Blunt, but I take exception to this treatment. Last time you appeared in my life with a unit of soldiers you had my friend manhandled into a car and driven away without even saying goodbye. Now, my friends and I haven't hurt anyone, we have caused no disruption, and I object to having guns pointed at me.'

'Alright, men, the girl makes a fair point,' the lead soldier said. He spoke to Clara. 'Now, miss, if you and your friends come quietly and don't make any trouble, my boys won't have to point their guns at you, alright?' He gestured to four of his men. 'You four lead these kids out to the vans, and play nice as long as they do. I'm sure they've had a tough time. Now cuffs for the others, please.'

'What, are we being marched out like criminals?' Wolf growled.

'I am afraid you and your unit are facing trial for treason by a military court, yes,' Mrs Jones told him, speaking for the first time. 'Please don't make life difficult for your fellow service-men by resisting.'

'Yeah, Wolf-man, none of us want to shoot you,' one of the soldiers said, and Alex realised that he must know Wolf. K Unit had trained with these men, or ones very like them. God, what a mess he had got them into. His stomach churned uncomfortably.

The soldiers ordered to look after him and his friends had been staring at him suspiciously, but when they saw his face their expressions softened. One of them stepped forward and touched him on the shoulder.

'Take it easy, kid,' he said.

Behind him Roberta gave a kind of shaky gasp, and the SAS man turned to her.

'Don't _touch_ me!' she snarled.

'Alright, miss, let's just keep calm, please. Walk out of the door.'

Heads down and avoiding one another's eyes, the Non-Conformists allowed themselves to be led out of the church. Alex heard footsteps as K Unit and Yassen followed – no doubt with machine-guns trained on their backs.

Outside, the four men in charge of them led them to two vans. They were made to stand with their arms out and their legs spread while they were searched for weapons. The soldiers raised their eyebrows over Roberta and Alex's pistols, and Alex felt any claim to innocence slipping away. They took Roberta's guitar case and rummaged inside. Roberta kept her face turned away, flinching as the zipper was undone. Another man had found the two hover-boards they had left leaning up against the wall of the church when they went in. His colleagues looked them over, and this time their eyebrows went up in astonishment. Then the two boards were loaded into the front of one of the vans, along with the pistols.

'Excuse me,' Clara said. 'My car is parked in the woods a couple of miles from here, near the Scorpia complex – I presume you know about the complex?' She held out her car keys. 'There's also an SAS jeep. Would it be possible for someone to collect them?'

One of the men took the keys. 'Don't worry, love, we'll see to it.'

Then the back doors of the vans were opened. Alex was sure that one could have seated all six of them, but the SAS made them get three in each, choosing the groups themselves. Alex would have argued against the lack of control, but he was too tired to care. He, Clara and Roberta were helped into one van, Taylor, Josh and Jane into the other. At the last moment Roberta leaned out again.

'Please,' she said, her voice suddenly brittle, 'can I have my guitar back. I…I want to inspect the damage.'

The soldier at the door glanced at the one who had searched the case. He shrugged.

'Seemed like just an ordinary guitar to me.'

'I don't want to blow up the van or anything,' Roberta promised tiredly. The SAS man smiled a little as he handed the guitar over.

Then the doors were slammed and locked. It wasn't nearly as bad as some of the vehicles Alex had been transported in – there were proper seats with buckles and although the windows were blacked out, there was a yellow ceiling light – but he still felt claustrophobic.

Roberta knelt on the floor and carefully unzipped the guitar case. Clara stood behind her, gripping her shoulder tightly. When she lifted the lid away both of them gasped.

The van began to move. Alex leaned his head back against the wall, letting it loll in time with the turns of the road, remembering the last time he had been a prisoner of his own government. That time he had got out of it; there had been things MI6 had needed of him, he had been able to make up for it and go free. That time he had been tangling with Scorpia as well. Would he be as lucky this time round?

The fret board of the guitar was snapped into two separate pieces. There was a stiletto-shaped hole through the body, and broken wires protruded from both places. Fragments of plastic littered the bottom of the case. It was clear that the guitar would never play again.

What about his friends? They hadn't meant any harm when they had hidden Yassen from Scorpia and the police, but would it appear that way in the eyes of the law? What about K Unit? Their careers could be over.

'Oh no,' Clara murmured.

What about Yassen?

'It doesn't matter,' Roberta was saying over and over, shaking her head. Clara stood silently behind her, stroking her hair. 'It doesn't matter at all.'

Alex wondered what she was talking about – the guitar, or their impending fate?

**A/N: And now for a gloooooooooooomy chapter. Silly Non-Conformists, you can't harbour an assassin just because he's troubled and sexy without any CONSEQUENCES. Do you see what I did thar? **

**True xxx**


	33. Chapter 32: Gadgets

**Chapter 32: Gadgets**

One advantage of having been put three to a van was that there was enough room to stretch out on the seats and sleep. When Roberta looked reasonably calm again, Clara lay down on one row and was out in minutes. Roberta, who was so tall her feet would have dangled off the end anyway, graciously gave Alex the other row and curled up in the corner. Alex slumped down gratefully, but even though he was exhausted he didn't manage to sleep more than fitfully. He knew he needed rest, but he couldn't get rid of the feeling that he had to stay awake, that he was responsible. And he couldn't stop worrying.

At about six o'clock – though none of them knew the time – Clara groaned and opened her eyes.

'Time is it?' she asked of the world in general.

'Night-time,' Alex answered. She turned and saw him leaning against the wall opposite her. 'I'm guessing, anyway,' he added.

'You look terrible,' she said.

'Ugh. Thanks. I know.'

'Did we stop or anything?' Clara asked, propping herself up on her elbows. She felt dizzy and disoriented, her body clock completely thrown out.

'Once. They let me and Rob out to pee. You didn't want to wake up though.'

'Sorry about that. So, where are we now?'

'Look at the window, Clara. The visibility is not that good. In fact, the window is opaque. _I have no idea_.'

'Oh.' Clara looked at him appealingly. 'I thought you were magic like that.'

Alex relented. 'We slowed down a while back, so I'm guessing we're in London now.'

'London?'

'Yes. I don't know for certain, but I'm fairly sure they're taking us to MI6. We probably don't have much further to go…'

As he spoke, the van turned sharp left and then began to go down. They felt their stomachs dip and the whole room slanted as they drove down some sort of ramp.

'Ah-hah,' Alex said darkly.

'This mean anything to you?'

'Yeah; when they're driving you here when you're in a ton of trouble, they always take you down a ramp into an underground car park first.'

'Great. And then what happens?'

'Well, sometimes they take you to a cell for the night…then they give you breakfast…then depending on how much leverage you've given them, they might blackmail you into doing a mission for them…'

'Alex, are we in trouble?'

'You tell me.'

'Oh God, we're in so much trouble, aren't we?'

'Well, I have a fair few brownie points…and you're a first-time offender…so yeah, we are in trouble.'

'Fuck.'

'They won't make you go on a mission, though, you're too clumsy,' Alex continued brightly.

'Thanks, frog,' Clara said, glaring at him darkly.

The van stopped.

'Is Rob awake?' Clara half-whispered. Roberta hadn't moved while they'd been talking; she was sitting with her knees drawn up and her head bowed, so that her long hair hid her face.

'Roberta?' Alex said, nudging her with his toe. She raised her head, blinking blearily, but Alex was convinced by the speed of her reaction that she hadn't been asleep.

'You okay?' Clara asked.

'Sure, why wouldn't I be?' Roberta growled. She groaned and stumbled to her feet, just as the door swung open behind them.

Alex blinked as electric light flooded into the van.

'You all okay?' one of the soldiers asked, peering in. 'Come out and line up.'

As Alex complied, he looked sideways and saw that Taylor, Josh and Jane were already lined up behind the other van a few spaces along from them. Jane caught his eye and flashed him a brief smile.

Another soldier walked up to them. He was holding Jane's purse and a handful of oil pastels that must have come out of Josh's pocket.

'Pat them down,' he instructed the first man. 'Anything they might have picked up in the Scorpia complex or anywhere else could be important. We'll send it all to the lab. Smithers will want to see those hoverboards…'

He leaned into the van and came out with Roberta's guitar case. 'I'm going to have to take this, Miss.'

Roberta stared straight ahead. 'Take it.'

The soldier shrugged and slung the guitar across his shoulder.

Men felt along their arms and legs for weapons, then led them up into the Royal and General bank. Alex felt relief when their path converged with the others'. But there was no sign of K Unit and Yassen.

'Where are the others?' he asked the soldier leading them.

'They're fine,' the man answered – which wasn't really an answer at all. Alex shrugged, fighting down his unease.

They were led up to the first floor and shown into a room. It was grey-carpeted and dull, but Alex noted with satisfaction that at least it didn't look like a cell. There was a sofa and two armchairs, and, off to the side, a table set for dinner. At the smell of food his stomach contracted fiercely. He hadn't eaten since the mince pies early that morning, and suddenly he felt faint with hunger – so faint that at first he didn't notice the man sitting in one of the armchairs.

'Good evening, Alex,' he said, folding a copy of the Evening Standard and sitting forward in his chair. 'Why don't you and your friends take a seat?'

'Hello, Mr Crawley,' Alex said. He perched gingerly on the sofa and the others followed suit. Josh bravely took the other armchair, looking as unfazed as ever.

'You can leave,' Crawley said impatiently to the soldiers. They went out, closing the door behind them.

'I am John Crawley of the Royal and General bank – or MI6, as you now know it,' Crawley said by way of an introduction, 'and what a fine mess you young people have got yourselves into!'

'Sorry,' Clara said. 'It just sort of…happened.'

'Hmph,' Crawley sniffed. 'Well, Mr Blunt wants to see you in an hour, and in the meantime you're all to clean yourselves up and have dinner.' He nodded towards the table. 'Now, it seems as though no harm has been done, so I don't want any of you to panic, but you've caused a considerable headache for all concerned. Just count yourselves lucky that you all got out of there in one piece. Now make sure you all have something to eat.' He nodded once and left. Alex heard the lock click behind him.

'So, looks like we're not going anywhere,' he said.

'Dinner!' Clara exclaimed, hurrying over to the table. She lifted the lid off a large silver saucepan and a plume of fragrant steam wafted up. 'Taylor and Josh get served last because they'll eat the whole lot given half the chance.' MI6 had provided them with some sort of stew and dumplings, and Clara began to ladle it onto her plate.

The meal was basic, but it seemed to Alex as though it was the best thing he had ever eaten. They emptied the stew pot and the breadbasket beside it, then devoured the apples and the box of Tesco's chocolate brownie pieces that had been provided.

'That's better,' Clara sighed at last, slumping back in her chair. 'So, what now?'

As if on cue there was a knock at the door, which immediately opened to reveal Crawley once again.

'Come with me now,' he instructed.

'What happens to K Unit?' Jane asked as they followed him into the corridor.

'They have already seen Mr Blunt,' Crawley said, walking briskly. 'They're the army's responsibility, really; I expect their regiment will have a thing or two to say to them. They are in considerable trouble, I'm afraid. Rather more than you.'

'And what about Yassen?'

Crawley didn't answer.

'Is he going to stand trial?' Jane pressed in her best school debating voice.

'Mr Blunt will explain everything,' Crawley said shortly. He stopped; Alex recognised the door he had stood in front of so many times before. 1605. The Gunpowder Plot. Crawley raised his hand, but before he could knock the door opened of its own accord. An armed soldier stepped out, followed by K Unit.

'Wolf!' Alex exclaimed.

'Hi, Cub.' Wolf jerked his head. He looked sour, but not overly worried. Fox was even calmer. Ignoring their escort, he stepped right up to Alex and spoke to him quietly.

'Don't worry about us, Cub; we did a lot of useful stuff out there. And good job on helping trash that compound.' He clapped Alex on the shoulder and re-joined the others.

'Come in, Alex,' a woman's voice called from inside the office. Mrs Jones. Alex sighed and stepped through the door.

The scene was just as he always remembered it, except that instead of one chair opposite the desk, there were seven. Would Crawley be joining them? But even as Alex asked himself the question, Crawley backed out and closed the door. He shrugged, and they sat down opposite the desk. He waited, but Mr Blunt didn't speak.

At last Alex asked, 'Well?'

Blunt held up a hand. There was another knock at the door.

'Come in,' he called.

The door opened and an armed guard led Yassen Gregorovich into the room.

Alex sat up, startled. He ran his eyes over the assassin, trying to work out what to think. On the plus side, Yassen looked reasonably relaxed, and he was being allowed into the meeting. On the minus side, his hands were cuffed in front of him.

'Thank you,' Mrs Jones said to the guard. 'Wait outside, please.' The guard left, and Yassen sat down in the remaining chair.

'We want to hear your collective account of events,' Mrs Jones explained. 'As I understand, it began when you, for reasons best known to yourselves, decided to let Mr Gregorovich stay in an MI6 safe house while he attempted to find information on his former employers. Is that correct?'

'Er…yes,' Clara answered.

'Why?'

'Well, he said that Scorpia had operated on his brain,' Clara said almost apologetically, glancing at Yassen. 'And Snake seemed to believe him, so…'

'But you didn't come to us?'

'We didn't think you would believe it.'

'And I wouldn't have waited to find out whether you did,' Yassen put in.

'Indeed.' Mrs Jones turned to Alex. 'What possessed you? Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in?'

'Yassen and I have an understanding,' Alex said. He knew it was a bad idea to wind up Blunt and Mrs Jones, but he couldn't resist.

Mrs Jones' eyes were boring into him, so he sighed and continued. 'K Unit thought it was important to find out whether there was any truth behind what Yassen said,' he explained, 'but we thought that if we got MI6 involved…well, like Yassen said, he would have run a mile and we would have had no way of finding out what Scorpia were up to…so, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.'

'Yes, well.' Mr Blunt cleared his throat. 'A few days later, K Unit tell me, your friend Roberta was kidnapped. Is that correct?'

'Yes,' Alex nodded.

'And this was nothing to do with Gregorovich?'

'No,' Yassen said smoothly.

'Not that I know of,' Roberta said, shrugging.

'So, without alerting MI6 – '

'Yassen would have run a mile,' Alex reminded them.

'Without alerting MI6, you decided to head up to Scotland to find her…'

'Hey,' Josh interrupted, 'excuse me. I was wondering, how did you guys find us in the first place. I mean, we hadn't told anyone where we were going. What gives?'

'We looked at your internet history,' Mrs Jones answered. 'Clara had booked a bed and breakfast in the village where we eventually found you.'

'Oh.' Clara looked down at her hands, abashed. 'Right.'

'Tell me what happened when you arrived at the compound,' Mrs Jones continued.

'We left Clara and that lot with the cars,' Alex said, 'and K Unit, Yassen and I went into the compound. We split up and went looking for Roberta, but we got captured. Guards from the compound found the others at the cars too…' Here Alex paused, and exchanged a tiny glance with Clara. He had missed out one crucial detail, but one look at her expression told him she wasn't going to bring it up if he didn't. Something in the set of Yassen's shoulders told Alex that he too was appreciating the omission.

'They apprehended you all quite easily, then?' Mrs Jones asked.

'They knew we would be there.'

'How?'

'They let me find out that information about Scorpia's experimental brain surgery was being held at that facility, so that I would come looking,' Yassen explained. He leaned forward in his chair, and when he spoke again he sounded more serious than Alex had ever heard him.

'Mr Blunt, this is important.' Alex didn't quite believe in his earnest tone. 'Scorpia have succeeded in performing mental engineering that can completely alter a person's psyche, and they can make physical modifications to match. With this technology they will no longer need to source suitable agents. They will be able to pull new assassins in off the streets. You remember Ash's abilities at the concert…'

'We are aware of your organisation's advances in medical science, Mr Gregorovich,' Blunt said crisply. He turned to stare reprovingly at Alex. 'As it happens, your actions have not been without benefit. I'm sure you all want to know what happened after you fled Scorpia's compound. Well, the fire you started in the operating theatre took hold, and destroyed a great deal of unique equipment. Somehow the cables from the main power generator were also destroyed, and the compound's entire computer system crashed.

'Oh.' Josh looked faintly surprised. 'That was me.'

'We have only been able to recover a little information from the computers,' Blunt continued, 'but we found several interesting experiments in the offices on the first floor – ' Yassen smiled to himself – 'and we apprehended most of the staff. The guards gave us some trouble, but the medical personnel were quite willing to explain their latest innovations. They confirmed that Scorpia are able to physically and mentally alter patients, and they also claimed that the files lost from the compound's computers were not held anywhere else. Their latest developments were so recent that they simply hadn't passed them on to the general organisation.'

'It almost beggars belief,' Mrs Jones said, 'and of course we're already trying to find out whether other branches of Scorpia are using the technology, but if our hostages are to be believed, you lot have put a considerable dent in Scorpia's research.'

'A shame that even a multi-billion dollar organisation cannot be relied upon to back up its files,' Blunt sniffed.

'Either way,' Mrs Jones said, 'we have captured some valuable medical professionals, and got rid of a very unwelcome facility on British soil. You also depleted their stock of hoverboards, by the way. The only people we were unable to apprehend were Ash and Mrs Rothman herself.'

Alex slumped back in his chair. 'Well, that's just bloody typical.' Yassen smiled more widely and Alan Blunt and Mrs Jones looked daggers at Alex.

'Rothman must have had some plan of escape which allowed her to vanish more quickly than her less senior colleagues,' Mrs Jones said frostily, 'and I am afraid that with his modifications Ash will be almost untraceable. All the same, we'll look for them. We'll never stop looking.'

'That's very reassuring, Mrs Jones.'

Mrs Jones sighed. 'Yes, Alex, I know we have fallen short in the past,' she said. 'Anyway, even though what you and your friends did was horribly dangerous, it seems to have actually paid off, so you will be let off with a severe reprimand this time.'

'Thanks!' Taylor said, beaming. He punched Alex on the shoulder. 'We won't do it again, right bruv?'

'Believe me, I never want to.'

The other Non-Conformists were grinning at one another with relief, but Roberta leaned forward and said aggressively,

'Hey.'

Everyone looked at her.

'What happens to Yassen?' she demanded.

There was silence. Blunt stared blankly at the opposite wall. Mrs Jones looked down with an expression of cultured regret.

It was Yassen himself who answered. 'A secret trial and imprisonment, I expect.'

'But –' Roberta said, but Blunt suddenly spoke again.

'Yes. There are severe charges against Mr Gregorovich. Multiple accounts of murder, theft, identity fraud, criminal damage –'

'But the brain surgery!' Clara protested.

'A procedure which he admits he volunteered for himself,' Mrs Jones reminded her.

'When he was our age! He's at least in part a victim –'

'He was Ian Rider's murderer and very nearly yours, Miss Foster,' Blunt snapped. 'Please do not be hysterical.'

Clara bridled. Mrs Jones raised a placating hand. 'You say that this surgery was very subtle compared to what was being done at the compound, Mr Gregorovich,' she said, 'so you see, Miss Foster, I'm afraid we have to regard him as a free agent.'

'Assuming he is telling the truth at all,' Blunt muttered.

'What?' Roberta said loudly.

'As I have said, all records at the compound were destroyed,' he said, 'and the surgeons we arrested could give us no information on techniques used before their time.'

'What, none?' Clara asked sceptically.

'None,' Blunt said coldly. 'And if the alterations were as unobtrusive as Mr Gregorovich insists, I doubt there will be much evidence that would show up in a brain scan –'

'Are you even going to _check_?'

'Please.' Mrs Jones stretched out her hands placating. 'This is not the time or the place to discuss this.'

'So it's going to be discussed, then? It's not final?' Josh spoke up again. His voice was heavy with disbelief.

Mrs Jones' tone was final. 'I know you mean well, but none of you know anything about what we are dealing with in an organisation like Scorpia – well, Alex, you understand…'

Alex was staring at the floor, his face hard. He refused to look at Mrs Jones as she waited.

Mrs Jones sighed and continued. 'There will be no more discussion.' She called towards the door. 'Come in!'

The guard stepped back into the room, and Yassen got to his feet. Roberta half-rose too, but Alex grabbed her shoulder and forced her back down into her chair. Yassen looked at her for a moment, and then at Alex. Alex stared back. He didn't know what he felt.

'Take him to a holding cell,' Blunt offered.

'Yes sir,' the guard said. He looked more nervous than Yassen. He took the Russian by the shoulder and led him out of the room. The door closed behind him.

'You may go,' Blunt said, nodding once. He slid an envelope across the desk. 'These are train tickets back to your home town. You, Alex, may return to your house in Chelsea if you wish. You are all free to go.'

Alex could see that the others were still reeling. He stood up, and said thickly,

'Come on, guys, let's go.'

As they had done after the shooting at their first concert, they followed him. They were too shocked to do anything else. They were out in the corridor before Clara found her voice.

'Alex, I'm sorry, we shouldn't have…I mean, he…your uncle.'

'No, it's fine…' Alex brushed her away, shaking his head. 'He's a complete psychopath, but they can't just…'

'They're just ignoring the other side of the question because it's simpler!' Jane exclaimed.

'It's fine; we'll do something,' Clara said. 'We can go to the papers –'

'Oh, for heaven's sake, Clara!' Alex exploded. 'You're so bloody naïve!'

'Alex! I was hoping to see you, but I'm sorry to find you so out of sorts, old chap.'

Alex spun round. A very fat man had stepped out of the elevator and was walking towards them.

'Oh.' He controlled himself with a huge effort. 'Mr Smithers. Good evening.'

'You're not in any hurry, I hope? I rather wanted to have a chat with you and your friends. First, tell me what's bothering you.'

'It's Yassen Gregorovich,' Alex said bluntly. 'He…well, he seems to be in a lot of trouble.'

'Oh?'

'They've locked him up.'

'Ah.' Smithers looked disappointed. 'I had a chat with Mr Gregorovich about Scorpia's new technology, and he struck me as quite an engaging young man – unusual; between you and me, most of these spies and assassins are dreadfully boring. And Mr Blunt is determined to see him thoroughly punished, is he? It seems a shame, but I'm not surprised. He's not happy with me either, you know; seems to think that my department should have come up with this hoverboard idea long ago. I told him that my specialities are chemistry and computer science, not mechanics, but there you go!'

'Yes.' Alex was feeling increasingly impatient. Yassen was being imprisoned, he had no way of doing anything about it even if he had wanted to. He was in no mood to make small talk with Smithers.

Smithers seemed oblivious to his frustration, however.

'Why don't you all pop into my office?' he said, beginning to walk down the corridor. 'When I was told that Alex was going to work with a group of teenage musicians…well, it's just a shame they rushed you out there so fast, dear boy, or I would have been able to make a few modifications to that bass of yours. And as for the other instruments! The saxophone for example. All those keys! I could fit a dozen gadgets into a saxophone – though I'm not sure if it would be playable afterwards. There's always a hitch.' He sighed, and pulled open the door to his office.

'You're gadgets are so the coolest thing in all Alex's stories,' Taylor said. 'My favourite's the zit cream.'

'Thank you,' Smithers beamed. 'Taylor, isn't it? Now…' He sat down in his chair and gestured to a rack at the side of the room. Alex saw that it contained six hoverboards.

'Jolly good show liberating these from Scorpia,' he said. 'I've already had one of my technicians strip them down and record the components, so I see no reason why you shouldn't have the originals back.'

Personally Alex could think of several reasons, from MI6's point of view, why they shouldn't have them back, but he thought it better not to argue.

'Oh, thanks,' said Clara, who also looked a little thrown.

'You're most welcome,' Smithers answered. 'If I'd had a little more time I would have added some upgrades, but there it is. Now, Roberta, I understand you suffered some property damage with Scorpia – shocking behaviour, I must say. As I said, I've been working on guitars since Alex was given this assignment, so it didn't take me long to knock this up for you.'

He reached under his desk and produced a magnificent guitar.

Roberta flew to the desk. 'That – that's mine!' she gasped, staring at the guitar as it lay gleaming on the wooden desk. 'Oh my God, you…you fixed it!'

'A little soldering here and there,' Smithers shrugged. 'And I took the liberty of reinforcing the casing a little, too. The next person who tries to smash it won't find it so easy…in fact, I would be careful who you hit on the head with it from now on!' He chortled at the thought. 'I've re-strung it, too. The strings come with my own twenty-year guarantee, so they won't need changing in a while – and they're rather special.' He reached out and strummed them gently with one pudgy thumb. 'They're perfectly normal on the outside, but threaded through them you'll find razor wire that'll cut through just about anything. The bottom E string also acts as a radio aerial. Just push the tuning peg down into the headstock of the guitar and you'll be able to tune in to any frequency you like. There are small speakers concealed behind the strings. And if you strum the E string you'll be able to send out a signal which will be intercepted by our satellite here at MI6. Useful if you're ever in a pinch. I'm afraid I haven't been able to incorporate a microphone, so you'll have to learn Morse code before it's much use to you, but it's a start, eh.'

'_Wow_,' Roberta muttered.

'Now, the other tuning pegs are quite fun too,' Smithers continued calmly. He ran a finger across the upper row of pegs. 'These top three are small explosive devices – unscrew them all the way, count to five and throw. Do be careful! This bottom left one is a skeleton key that will pick just about any lock. And this last one – ' He tapped the final peg. 'Push it into the headstock just like I showed you with the first one, and it will send out a signal that will jam all the security cameras within a hundred metres. Rather like the gadget I gave you when you broke into that agricultural complex, Alex.' He looked past Roberta at Alex, raising one eyebrow.

'Does it work on…like, _all_ cameras?' Alex asked carefully.

'All,' Smithers said, smiling beatifically. 'Why, we have an absolutely state-of-the-art security system here in the Royal and General, but I shudder to think what would happen if an infiltrator were to come equipped with one of these. Just about cripple our surveillance, I should think.'

'Right.' Alex paused for a moment, then stood. 'Well…thank you, Mr Smithers. We'd better hurry if we don't want to miss our…train.'

'It was lovely meeting you,' Clara added, leaning forward to shake hands with Smithers.

'The same to all of you, and splendid to see you again, Alex. Do take care of the guitar. And come back soon; I expect I'll have a whole host of instrumental gadgets soon, and you're not to spoil my fun!'

'Oh, we won't,' Clara promised.

'Thank you so much for fixing this,' Roberta said fervently. She picked up the guitar, feeling its weight, her expression turning thoughtful. 'I'm…sure it will come in handy.'

'I hope so, my dear,' Smithers said, and they smiled at one another – a smile of perfect understanding.

**A/N: I LOVE SMITHERS (screw you, Scorpia Rising. Your opinion is not important).**


	34. Chapter 33: Jailbreak

**Chapter 33: Jailbreak**

**A/N: This chapter's Decoration for Services to the Fandom – also known as the kicking-True's-butt-badge – goes to **The Ice Within**, who missed dinner – **_**missed dinner**_** – to read this fic. And then accused me of having not updated since August. And accused me justly. Because I have not updated since August. I have had more excuse this time than some other times, because I am an A2 student now. For my non-English readers, this is serious business. It's as serious as school business gets. But then missing dinner is serious business too.**

**I am quite annoyed with myself for having let this fic lose momentum, and therefore probably readers, and I am honoured by every person who bothers to read and review, and **_**wait**_**. I think I'll finish by Christmas (like I was hoping to finish by last Christmas ^^;), and tonight I'mma gonna give you two chapters at once, like I've never done before because I'm a selfish little review-monkey who likes to bump her stories to the top of the list, but heck, you guys deserve it. Oh, and I stole the keypad idea in this chapter from my mum, who used it in her *real* book.**

'Right, guys,' Alex said as soon as they were out in the corridor, 'I'm sorry to be all patronising after everything we've done together, but this time I _really_ think that this time just I – _fine_, just me and Rob should go.' He had seen Roberta furiously open her mouth, and felt that an argument at this point would be even more dangerous than just letting her come with him.

'Don't worry about it,' Clara said briskly. She seemed to have realised the risks of arguing too. 'Probably safest. We'll wait for you out front somewhere.'

'Wait, what?' Taylor said.

Alex faltered a little. 'We are all thinking the same thing, right?'

Jane tapped Taylor on the elbow and whispered, 'they're going to break Yassen out of his cell using Rob's new guitar.'

'Oooo-oh,' Taylor said. 'Uh…sounds a little risky.'

'Shut up; I don't want to think about it,' Alex muttered. 'Taylor, Josh, could you take Rob's and my hoverboards and hang onto them? We'll meet you…where close to here's got good cover? Hyde park. C'mon, Rob, let's go. S'laters, guys.'

'He is a legend,' Clara said, shaking her head as she watched them go.

'He's crazy,' Jane said, taking her arm. 'We're all crazy. Come on, let's hurry; we've got to get out of here.'

'Don't run,' Alex said, taking Roberta by the elbow.

'Okay,' Roberta said nervously. He didn't think he had ever seen her look so anxious, but it wasn't really surprising. Loudly proclaiming transgression in the school corridors was a long way away from doing it for real in the corridors of MI6.

'Where are we going?' she hissed at him.

'Down. They held me in one of the cells here the first time I got mixed up with Scorpia; I think I know roughly where that is.' _Hell, this is going to be harder than I thought,_ he nearly said, but stopped himself in time. There was no sense in panicking her.

They walked quietly to the stairs and jogged down, their feet tapping lightly on the carpet. Alex's legs quickly started to ache, but he somehow felt that, given their clandestine destination, they shouldn't be taking the lift.

'Rider, how many floors up are we?'

'Seventeen.'

'Oh.'

After a few more flights, Roberta said, 'it's Christmas day.'

'Great. Thanks for making me more miserable.'

'No, I mean, maybe that's why the building's so empty. Maybe this is going to be possible.'

'I suppose. Even spies have to take holidays. Some spies. Not all. Now stop talking; the walls have ears.'

They came out into the underground car park. Everything was eerily quiet, and Alex realised Roberta must be right. The building was operating on a skeleton staff. But he knew that the holding cells would be thoroughly guarded. They were going to need a lot of luck.

The two vans that had brought them in were still parked in their bays. Alex shivered as he passed them, heading for a door marked with an innocuous – but tempting – 'authorised personnel only.'

Footsteps came echoing down the stairwell behind them, and Alex quickly grabbed Roberta by the sleeve and pulled her behind one of the two vans.

'Don't crouch, lean,' he whispered. 'Act casual…'

They weren't forbidden to be where they were, after all; there was no need to behave suspiciously. Alex waited a few seconds while the footsteps crossed the car park, then peeped out from behind the van. A woman with a box of files was standing in front of the door, and he heard a faint bleeping sound as she punched numbers into a key pad on the wall. She was sideways onto them and he could see the stabbing movements of her finger, but he couldn't make out the numbers on the pad.

He could feel Roberta leaning forward behind him. Without turning he pressed her with his shoulder, trying to signal to her to keep out of sight. The woman pushed the door open and disappeared inside. Alex gritted his teeth. What next?

'5396,' Roberta said.

'What?'

'That's the code.'

'_What_?'

'You know how phones and things have a different tone for each button?'

Alex looked at her blankly. 'They do?'

Roberta closed her eyes briefly. 'They do. I wrote a song based around the tune of Clara's mobile number once. Anyway – ' She tapped her ear. '5396.'

'Key pad whisperers,' Alex muttered, heading for the door. 'Whatever next?'

He hesitated for a second, then let Roberta type in the code.

'God, I'm not a kid who wants to put the money in the parking meter,' she said, but she looked pretty chuffed all the same.

'Just like a spy film, isn't it?' Alex smirked. Sure enough, Roberta had been right. The door opened.

'Right,' Alex said, stepping inside. 'Time for a little security camera disabling, I think.'

'Oh, uh…' Roberta unslung her guitar case from her shoulders and opened it at the neck. The guitar gleamed inside, more sleek and splendid than ever. Alex remembered the state it had been in at the end of the evening before, and felt a wave of admiration for Smithers. The man was a genius.

Roberta was fumbling with the tuning pegs. Alex could remember well the first few doubtful times working a gadget, 'two turns clockwise' or 'press start three times' or whatever it happened to be. Roberta twisted the peg three times, as though unscrewing it, and then pressed it into the neck of the guitar. It clicked and stayed in place. Nothing noticeable happened, but, Alex hoped, all the cameras in this part of the building would have frozen.

'I hope that Smithers guy knew what he was doing,' Roberta said, glancing nervously around.

'Don't worry; he should know how the security in this building works. He probably designed it. I hope he's not getting himself into trouble, though…better not get caught, had we?'

They set off down another corridor. The floor was still carpeted, but it was somehow bleaker and more menacing down here; the lighting was harsh, the passage narrow, and Alex could feel the weight of the rest of the building pushing down on them. No windows. Their breath and padding feet seemed horribly loud.

They came to a corner and Alex gestured to Roberta to stay out of sight, then pressed himself flat against the wall and peered gingerly round.

He was looking into a well-lit, open-plan office area. It was obviously designed to be a pleasant working space, but opposite him he could see another door, this time much heavier: bolted grey steel with a second sign, this time in bright red letters: WARNING: AUTHORISED PERSONELLE ONLY. In the working area, the woman with the files who had let them into the building was leaning over the shoulder of a dark-haired secretary. Alex's eyes flickered to the door. It must lead to wherever Yassen was being held – and he was sure there would be armed guards on the other side of it.

'_What are we going to do?_' Roberta mouthed at him. Alex didn't answer. His mind was blank.

An intercom crackled on the desk, and both woman stopped their conversation to look at it.

'Meryl,' a man's voice said, 'there seems to be a problem with the CCTV on your floor. Could you go and check it from the camera end?'

'Oh, shit…' Alex heard Roberta breathe.

He grabbed her and pulled her back down the corridor as the two women left their desk. There was an alcove with a drinking fountain behind them, and the two of them just managed to cram in behind it. Alex crouched absolutely still, praying that neither of the women would glance sideways…to his relief, they passed by, intent on the cameras. But their luck couldn't last.

Roberta looked at him questioningly, half-rising, her body turned towards the office and the security door.

'Yes, go!' he hissed. It was crazy. They were bound to be caught. But this was the only chance they were going to get.

They were half-way across the office, right out in the open, when Alex heard more footsteps. His stomach plunged like a broken lift. This time it was Roberta who acted. She gesticulated towards the desk.

Alex dived forward and curled himself into the space under the desk, but it was obvious that there wasn't room for two. There was only a narrow gap for the typist's legs, and Alex wondered if the desk had been purposely designed that way, so as not to provide a hiding place. But what Roberta did next astounded him. Quickly pulling her hair into a twist that hid the worst of the pink streaks, she sat down in the chair itself, pulled it to the desk and hunched over the computer.

Seconds later a man hurried into the room. He looked fraught, and unlike the others they had seen so far, he was armed. But he was focussed on the problem of the cameras, not the identity of the receptionist. In the tail of his eye he saw a dark-haired woman in an anonymous black jacket bending busily over her keyboard. He assumed that the room was secure. He hurried on.

Roberta was shaking. Alex reached up and jabbed her in the leg.

'What?'

'Give me your scarf, I've got to hide my face.'

She stuffed her pashmina into his hands and he wound it over his mouth, nose and hair. He didn't think he had felt more ridiculous since the bullfighting costume, but it had to be done. He scrambled up from under the desk and searched until he spotted what he was looking for: a discreet but unmistakable button.

'Push that,' he said to Roberta, 'and then keep your face hidden until I'm done fighting.'

He faced the steel door. _Please, God, don't let there be more than one guard._

Behind him, Roberta pressed the button.

An alarm shrilled. Not too forceful – it could have been used to signal anything from a terrorist attack to a fainting fit – but it almost made him jump out of his skin, and it did what he had hoped it would do. The door burst open, and before the guard who had opened it could take a step forward Alex was piling into him; a jab to the diaphragm to wind him, and a punch in the head to bring him down. He caught the door before it swung shut and dashed in. There was a second guard, scrabbling for his gun. Alex jabbed a finger into his wrist, caught him by the collar and slammed him chest-first into the wall.

'Which cell?' he whispered – he didn't dare raise his voice for fear of being recognised.

The guard needed no clarification. 'Third down!' he gasped. It was clear that he had panicked. He knew that the man he was guarding had worked for Scorpia. It hadn't crossed his mind that the whole escape was being managed by a couple of teenagers.

Alex knocked him out too, feeling his stomach turn at the cool demolition, and dashed to the third cell. Roberta killed the alarm and came running in.

'Lock-picking tuning peg, please,' Alex said, kneeling.

Roberta scrabbled for it. 'Why aren't these locks electronic as well?' she said.

'In case of fire, I bet.' Alex snatched the peg. A long, delicate skeleton key unfolded out of its inside. 'So you can still get the prisoners out if the electricity's not working.'

'It would make more sense to have a manual override – '

'Well this is making it possible for us to get in, alright? Don't bloody complain!' Alex twisted the peg and the door swung open.

He had to hand it to Yassen. The Russian was already on his feet, tense and ready; he must have heard the noises from outside. When he saw who is was, though, he looked staggered. At least, he looked almost as impassive as ever, but Alex could see the shock in his eyes.

'Quick,' Alex said, grabbing him by the arm and surprising himself with the motion. 'There are no back-up measures in place; we've got to _run_.'

Yassen came, without comment. He seemed to flow out of the cell, not just a person but a palpable presence, and Alex felt as though a huge weight had rolled off his shoulders at the sight of someone who knew what they were doing. He was also fully aware of how insane it was to be feeling that way.

'Run,' Yassen said calmly.

Alex stepped aside to let him pass first, then fell in immediately behind, feeling Roberta do the same beside him. They dashed out of the dark row of cells and into the office. Yassen hesitated, poised on the balls of his feet; Alex guessed he must have been blindfolded when he was brought down. The corridor they had entered by would take them back to the car park, underground in the heart of MI6 headquarters. There had to be another way out. He looked around, and saw a luminous sign: green with a running man.

'That way.'

Yassen darted forward, quick, controlled and silent. Alex tried to mimic his light footsteps, his heart in his mouth. Surely, any second now, guards, discovery, punishment. He heard a door slam somewhere behind them, and footfalls getting closer, but up ahead Yassen had reached a door marked _fire exit_ – he was throwing it open – the three of them piled through, and Alex slammed it shut again.

The cold night air hit his lungs in an icy, refreshing gasp. He could see Liverpool street just a short sprint away, with ordinary people strolling past – a big enough crowd, even today, to lose oneself in. However, he could also see men spilling out of the front of the Royal and General. He could think of one small piece of comfort: there was only so much fuss MI6 could kick up without blowing their cover.

'Run; I've got a plan!' he hissed, and Yassen and Roberta immediately obeyed, dashing headlong away from the building and towards the street. Despite everything, Alex felt a little buzz of confidence. He waited for a few seconds and then pelted after them, a featureless silhouette in the orange street lamps, waving his arm at the approaching agents and yelling:

'I'm on it!'

For the crucial instant, it worked. The men hesitated. Maybe they should fan out and cover him. Maybe they shouldn't get in the way. Pounding forward, Alex caught up with Yassen and Roberta as they lost themselves among the milling people outside Liverpool Street Station.

For a few minutes they moved as fast as they could without running, twisting and turning to avoid pursuit. Then Alex spoke quietly.

'We need to head to Hyde Park. The others will be waiting for us with hoverboards.'

Yassen shook his head. 'I'm impressed,' he said. 'You have carried this out very smoothly.'

'No we didn't; it was a fucking shambles,' Roberta muttered. 'Mind you, their security was a shambles too, I guess…'

'I didn't expect it to be so easy,' Alex said. 'I expect they don't usually have prisoners in Liverpool Street itself. But still, without the guitar…'

'We would have been screwed.' Roberta finished his sentence for him.

'Guitar?' Yassen asked.

'Oh, yeah, Mr Smithers –' Roberta, finding herself talking directly to Yassen, suddenly became tongue-tied. She turned her face away and shrugged the guitar case a little off her shoulders to show it. 'He fixed my guitar.'

'Fixed it?' Yassen repeated, with undue interest. Roberta hunched in on herself, and Alex suddenly remembered the aggressive, brooding creature she had been when he'd first met her, at school. Of course, she was always aggressive and brooding, but there was a difference between her _caged _aggression and the kind she displayed when playing music. And, Scorpia or no Scorpia, it had been a long time since he'd seen her on the defensive.

'He put a few extra things in,' he explained. 'Mr Smithers did. CCTV jammers, lock-picks, that sort of thing.'

'Hand grenades,' Roberta added.

'Yeah. We've still got them.' Alex felt his mood brighten a little, though he couldn't think why. 'And then he just gave it to us. You know, casually.'

'…I see,' Yassen said. 'A remarkable man.'

'Did you meet him?' Alex asked.

'No. I should have liked to. One day, perhaps…'

They had reached the edge of the park. Alex bounced up on his toes, feeling his muscles, cramped from their long day of driving, suddenly waking up at the sight of a wide green space.

Yassen stared out across the dark lawns and shrubbery, his face serene, and a little thoughtful. On Alex's other side, Roberta drew a sudden, shaky breath.

'Oh!' Something suddenly went clunk in Alex's head; he wished he had managed not to exclaim about it, but it was too late now. 'Uh…I'm going to try and find the others and you two, should walk…'

Roberta folded her arms tightly. 'I don't think that's…'

'Rob –'

'Shush.'

'Don't be –'

She baulked away from his hands.

'– a coward, if you don't talk now you'll regret it later.'

'Fine.' Roberta spun sharply on her heel and stood with her back to him, her whole body rigid.

Alex supposed that whatever happened next was Yassen's problem. He looked at the Russian, who gave him the barest half-smile, then turned and hurried away into the dark.

'Roberta,' Yassen said.

Roberta grimaced to herself. She could think of absolutely nothing to say.

'The problem with modern England,' Yassen said, 'is that it has no etiquette. If it were socially unacceptable for a lady and a gentleman in a park not to talk, we would have somewhere to begin. Come. Take my arm. We will walk.'

Roberta sighed, turned around and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. She looked confused, angry and, to Yassen, very sweet and shy. Who was there at her school, he wondered, who knew how to treat her like a lady? And much less how to treat her the way a woman like herself should be treated? He knew, despite her front, that she was touched.

He led off walking. Roberta followed with long, energetic strides, not strolling but marching. Good. His body wanted exercise. He walked in time with her until she suddenly slowed almost to a standstill, threw back her hair and demanded,

'What the hell is this?'

'How can I answer without making you angry?' he sighed.

'Answer however you like. I'm already angry.'

'Oh, Roberta,' he said, shaking his head.

' "Oh Yassen," ' she sneered. 'There's a fucking moon up there and everything. Oh, what the hell?'

'I don't know best to comfort you. I don't know whether to tell you that it is an adolescent phase which will pass, or a natural biological phenomenon, or that love is never wrong –'

'Just tell me whatever will shut me up, huh? I don't suppose _you_ have an opinion? Hey, Yassen, do you even believe in love?'

'I didn't,' Yassen said, 'until I met you.'

Roberta made an incredulous choking sound. 'Oh – ! God, _please_!'

Yassen raised a hand, apologetic. 'That came out wrong.' He grinned at his own use of the phrase. 'For one thing, it isn't true. I already loved Alex, and Alex's father. But women…romantic love…'

'Love is just lust, right?'

Yassen inclined his head. 'But the way I feel about you does not quite fit with that hypothesis, so I have been considering others, and one of these is that love exists.'

'Tell me another.'

'That I'm going crazy.'

'Fair enough. That was going to be my explanation for myself.'

'Roberta,' Yassen said softly, and reached out a hand. 'It isn't wrong to be in love with me.'

She wrenched herself away. 'I'm not in love with you!'

'That is why I didn't want to say it. I knew it would only make you shout.' He reached out again, and this time she let him take her by the shoulders, not quite like a teacher, not quite like a lover. 'Roberta, however you feel – ' He brushed a wisp of hair away from her face, and suddenly everything shifted; the night was alive, the stars dazzling – 'you are a good person.'

'What do you mean "good"?' Roberta muttered, staring at her shoes.

'I mean that you possess good qualities. That it is a good thing that you exist. That I am an inconsistent, short-sighted and dramatic human being and think you are a good thing.'

'Do you love me?' Roberta asked boldly.

'Yes.'

Well.

'So you've worked out what love is, then, at any rate?' she said after a moment.

'Yes. It is whatever this is.'

'It looks like we're back to "what the hell is this?" ' Roberta half-laughed, looked down and saw that somehow they had ended up holding both pairs of hands. Their heads were bowed forward, very close together.

'I know that I respect you, as I have respected a few other people before. I know that I desire you, but not enough to allow me to fall back on the original theory of love. And I know that I am a little bit afraid of you.

'Wow,' she muttered, slipping for a moment at last. 'I…I just…' She looked up at Yassen and any words she might have had died in her throat, but it didn't matter; he could read them all in her eyes. The longing to escape from everything that was shackling her brilliant wildness and her originality, and be truly understood – even by a murderer. And maybe to have to unravel him in return, rather than being able to see his every social motive pinned out like beetles on a cork board.

He touched her cheek and looked into her eyes, relishing the connection; a true point of contact. She looked away – rested her head on his shoulder and began to mumble.

'Desire me, huh? Dude, I thought you were the freakin' North Pole…'

Yassen chuckled, holding her. She lifted her head again and looked into his eyes. 'What're you going to do now?'

The big question. For a moment Yassen allowed himself to forget it. He kept one finger holding onto reality – his reality – and let himself drift in the smoke of her voice. His shoulder-blades and whole body tingled, then relaxed. What did it matter if enemies came, if the park was full of snipers? Spies and assassins spent their whole lives preserving themselves, so carefully, from every risk. And for what?

This.

Their lips touched.

'Ah, Roberta,' Yassen said again, and knew that this time the words had come without his volition, and that he had meant them.

'Kiss me,' she said, all adolescent seductress, and Yassen bent his head and kissed her. The snow in London had all melted, if there had been any to begin with; there was nothing but wetness and cold, and yet the moment their mouths met she was back in the snowfield. She actually felt and saw it descend around her: a rush of wind and snowflakes, the landscape turning white, cold without hurting. Hot tears sprang up in her eyes, because she knew that she was holding a waking dream in her arms, and that like a snowflake he would melt away in a moment, driven away by the police trucks and sirens that would come howling out of her structured life. She ran her hands down his arms, feeling for his skin, and the shape of his lean, wiry muscles beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

'Yassen, aren't you cold?'

'Haven't we been here before?'

'You felt it too? All snowy?'

'Something like that. Choral music.'

'Whatever floats your boat. We'll go walking in the snow again,' she promised extravagantly, but meaning it all the same.

'In Russia,' he agreed.

'Really?'

'Yes. And then we'll break into the Winter Palace together, after the tourists have left.'

'I'll bring my super-guitar to help us do it.' Roberta sniffed deeply and flicked a finger under each eye. 'Come on, we'd better find the others. You have to get out of the city.'

It didn't take them long to spot the rest of the Non-Conformists, standing huddled together on the rise of the ground, sheltered by trees. Roberta could see the outline of a hoverboard, standing up on end under Alex's arm, and suddenly her heart began to beat faster. She had a sense that time was slipping away from her, faster than she realised, like water under ice; and yet she couldn't stop walking forward.

'Guys,' Alex said as they climbed up towards him. He tipped the board down at Yassen's feet. 'There. All charged up and ready.'

'I thank all of you very much,' Yassen said, looking round the six faces. 'For your help, the escape – the music especially.'

'You're violin's still at our place,' Jane remembered.

'I will write to you when it is safe. You can send it.' That was a definite link. They were all pleased.

'Well, goodbye, bruv,' Taylor said, stepping forward. He and Yassen shook hands.

'See ya,' Josh said, shaking in turn. Clara wished him good luck; Jane kissed him briskly on the cheek. He came round to Roberta.

'I…' She bit her lip, looking everywhere but at him.

'Come with me,' he offered. 'If you wish.'

She stared at him. He could feel the others' eyes boring into him. Then Roberta whispered,

'Who'd make Alex practise his scales?'

Alex.

'Stay,' Yassen said, pushing her hair behind her ear, and turned to him.

'No-one nicks my bloody friends,' he said, marching forward. He hugged Yassen painfully. 'There; good luck alright. And this doesn't mean I'm not going to kill you and it doesn't mean I damned well like you; now go!'

Yassen kick-started the board, and the fans began to spin, raising it off the ground. He stepped on. The board bobbed a little, adjusting to his weight. The fans calmed to a steady hum.

'Godspeed and all that,' Clara said. Yassen nodded, raising his hand in the same gesture Alex had once seen him make from behind the glass of a helicopter, the very first time they'd met. The Non-Conformists leaned back to watch him as he inched the board higher and higher, the whine of the fans steadily rising as they lifted his weight. For a moment he hung above them, testing his balance. Then he crouched, flinging his arms back as counterweights, and the board shot away, rapidly picking up speed, vanishing into the darkness of the park. In moments the fans had faded, and they were left standing, gazing into the empty night.

'Lucky cow,' Clara muttered.

'Shuddup,' Roberta said. 'It doesn't…what, what would you have said?'

'Same as you, of course. I couldn't leave my lovely friends. Seeing as we all need you desperately.'

'You can say that again.' But Roberta continued to stare out across the park, her chin raised and shoulders tense.

'He knows you decided to stick it out here for our sake,' Clara said. 'We all know you didn't say know because deep down you've got a mundane mind, or anything like that.

She had cut straight to the heart of the issue, like always. Roberta looked at her hard for a moment, then grinned suddenly.

'Thanks, babes. I've really missed all you guys…I mean, I know I've only been away for like two days, but I've really, really missed you. It's just –' She stopped abruptly.

'I know.' Clara threw a regretful glance after the hoverboard. 'Why are all the good ones gay, married, evil or fictitious, huh? Except for this lot.' She jerked her head at Taylor, Alex and Josh.

'We've done a pretty good job on this lot,' Jane agreed.

'Yeah. Now let's get to the train station. It's freezing here; I wanna go home.'

They arrived at the station in plenty of time for the ten o'clock train that would take them for Essex. Alex left them, with bone-crushing hugs and a few tears, on the platform. He promised that he would be in touch, would see them as soon as he could, but that night he needed to be with Jack. It was only a short journey back to the house in Chelsea, though made longer by the reduced Christmas Day service, but it was all he could do not to fall asleep in the empty carriages. The long silver board he was carrying drew a few glances, but nobody seemed to think it was anything more than the latest teenage fad.

'Merry Christmas, Jack,' he said when he stumbled across the threshold and into her astonished arms. 'Can I have plum pudding and bed, please?'

When MI6 agents arrived at the station they were told by the staff that teenagers matching the descriptions they gave had been there, and that they had boarded the ten o'clock train, having waited a good twenty minutes for it. In order to have arrived in the station when they did, they would have had to have set off from the Royal and General as soon as they had left Blunt's office, several minutes before Yassen Gregorovich's escape had taken place. Of course they had been able to get to the station much more quickly by hoverboarding in a straight line than they would have done by wending their way via public transport, but MI6 didn't think to factor flight into their calculations. It seemed that the six teenagers couldn't possibly have broken Gregorovich out of his cell and still have arrived twenty minutes early for their train, and besides, the idea of anyone managing to enter the holding facility without the use of advanced infiltration equipment was ridiculous. Blunt was forced to conclude that someone – Scorpia, or some other contact of Gregorovich's – had been standing by to pull the assassin out. He had slipped through their fingers yet again.

Yassen rode hard for most of the night, stopping for only a couple of hours when he knew he had to sleep. It was about nine o'clock in the morning when, muscles aching and dizzy with hunger, he arrived in the Cornish village of Port Tallon. There he knocked on the door of an old friend whom he had cultivated during the Stormbreaker assignment: an ex-marine turned fisherman. He had been an expert in covert reconnaissance and on sunny weekends still liked to take the boat across to Brittany and land on unfrequented beaches 'just to keep the Frogs on the hop.' After an hour spent sitting astride his friend's oil-heater, devouring the largest and greasiest breakfast he had had in years, Yassen felt more than equal to making the journey and lending a hand along the way. Once he was in France, it would be easy. There would be no record of his having entered the country, and other contacts there would help him disappear.

'Do me a favour,' he said while they drank coffee.

'Besides taking you on a suicide-dash across the Channel? Joking; you did me a favour by suggesting it. Well, what d'you want?'

'If I send you a letter, would you post it on to an address in Essex?' He had a feeling that MI6 would be watching the Non-Conformists' post. It might be better to have a middle-man.

'Letter? Who d'you have to send letters to?'

Yassen gave him an answer he knew he would like. 'A woman.'

'Why the cloak and dagger? Not ditching her, are you, Gregorovich?'

'I'm afraid I've had to leave her for a while.'

The fisherman sucked his teeth. 'Be kinder just to cut contact, if you want my opinion,' he said. 'But alright.'

Yassen smiled. 'Thank you.'


	35. Chapter 34: Cleanup

**Chapter 34: Cleanup**

**Disclaimer: **Alas, I still do not own Alex, but did you notice how AH stole all my ideas in 'Scorpia Rising?'

**A/N: I was going to make this part of the last chapter, but it was getting kinda long, so I thought I'd cut it. And besides I'd gone for that summing-up tone in the last two scenes, but I wanted this to be a more immersive scene, so I thought if I broke the chapters here you'd read it as such. See the amount of thought I put into this stuff, guys?**

**So I knew all about the soppy moon-and-ice-themed romance, but it was really hard to think what to do with the bad guys. I am eternally grateful to **bestobsessed **and **Essence of Gold** (yes, my mother and sister are both on fanfiction), who helped me come up with the idea for this chapter and have been my bunny-buddies, advisors and front-line fangirls. Yay!**

'How are you progressing with the clean-up, Doctor Three?' Mr Kurst asked.

As Julia Rothman's partner in Ash and Yassen Gregorovich's briefing, Doctor Three had been given the task of dealing with the aftermath of the Clara Foster operation. He looked slowly around the table at his fellow board members and cleared his throat before he replied.

'I have spoken with our client,' he said, 'and we agreed that it would be best to terminate the operation. As you know, he originally requested that Foster's death seem accidental, and there is no hope of that now. The secret services and a number of the target's own friends and acquaintances are aware of the situation; if she were to be killed, we could end up with a martyr on our hands. Our client has decided to simply let the matter rest and hope that she does not publish any more controversial poetry. It was only one book, after all; it is unlikely that her influence on the world's thinking will be very great. Besides, she is rather well protected.'

There was a pause. The faces of the board were as impassive as ever, but somehow nobody seemed willing to meet anybody else's eyes. The name of Alex Rider seemed to hover in the air of the board room, as sarcastic a putdown as any the boy himself could have come out with.

Dr Three continued. 'I have also terminated the search for Gregorovich. I consider the effort that it would take to locate a man of his resource to be disproportionate to the amount of damage he could do to us. He knew more than most agents, certainly, being a better agent himself, but 'more' is still not a great deal. He could not compromise us seriously, and I do not believe that he has any wish to do so. Ash, on the other hand, is a different matter. I am afraid that with his new skills he will be even harder than Gregorovich to locate, but our efforts continue. He remains unique; his body could provide valuable information to whatever organisation or government locates him first. If we manage to recapture him, we make be able to retrieve some of the information lost during the debacle in Scotland. Fortunately most of our research on the workings of the brain remains intact, but those teenagers managed to destroy most of the files detailing the modifications made to Ash's body, which the British research branch had not yet published to the rest of the organisation. The equipment used to perform the surgery was also burnt. With the majority of the Scottish staff in MI6 custody, we cannot hope to regain the advances they made unless we can examine the product of those advances: Ash.'

'But he remains elusive, you say?' the Australian board member asked.

'Yes.'

'Perhaps we should direct our efforts towards liberating those of our agents whom MI6 is holding.'

'Perhaps,' Kurst agreed. 'I shall look into it as a long-term project, but I am afraid it will not be an easy matter.' He turned back to Dr Three. 'And what of Mrs Rothman?'

'Oh, there is no need to worry on that front.' Dr Three rarely smiled, and when he did so now it was enough to make even Zeljan Kurst's stomach turn. 'She has been taken care of.'

At that moment there was a soft knocking on the door, and a woman stepped into the room, pushing a metal trolley with several shelves in front of her.

'Tea or coffee, gentlemen?' she asked.

'Tea would be lovely, thank you,' Dr Three said pleasantly. The other board members were staring in silence. One by one, they were gradually working out what they were seeing, but their brains were still refusing to accept what was right before their eyes.

The woman's dark, very slightly greying curls were tied back beneath a neat service cap. The face beneath them seemed to have aged by twenty years. Its old mask of powder was gone, as was the red lipstick, the mascara, the glimmer of diamonds at ears and throat. But it was more than that. The eyes had changed. The fierce, driven glitter had gone out of them, and when she moved it was not with the sudden poise of a scorpion, but slowly, carefully, as though she wasn't quite sure whether her feet would hit the ground or carry on right through it.

All in all, Dr Three could hardly blame his colleagues for not believing that she was Julia Rothman.

'Our fellow executive managed to escape from the facility shortly before MI6 arrived,' he explained. 'Her staff were not so lucky, but it seems she had contingency plans for herself. When she arrived at my office in Venice I considered shooting her, but one of our medical research teams wanted a subject. All our psychiatric research thus far has been geared towards making a mind more aggressive. Our scientists wished to know if the surgery used on Ash and Gregorovich could be made to work the other way.'

'Would you like sugar, sir?' Mrs Rothman asked.

'Yes please,' Dr Three replied. 'Three cubes.'

All eyes watched as the lumps dropped one by one into the fluted china cup.

'There you are, sir,' Mrs Rothman said, handing Dr Three the cup. She glanced around the table. 'Anyone else…?'

'Oh, uh…' The Australian jerked himself visibly back to his senses. 'Yes, I'll have coffee, please.'

One at a time, the other board members voiced their requests.

'Tea.'

'Coffee.'

'Tea.'

'Tea.'

As Mrs Rothman handed the Australian his cup, her hand shook a little.

'Are you alright, ma'am?' he asked.

'Oh, yes, thank you, I'm quite alright,' she answered. Her voice had changed too: the studied femininity backed with steel was gone; the Welsh accent was more pronounced. She looked to Dr Three and he smiled reassuringly back.

'The surgery was unprecedented and extremely invasive,' he told the room at large. 'It is possible that the doctors overdid it a little.'

Mrs Rothman took no notice of his comment. She continued around the table, handing out drinks, and then nodded and pushed her trolley out of the door again.

'I am sure we are all agreed that an operative who has failed twice – against the same agent – ' there was a collective wince – 'is ripe for retirement. And members to whom retirement is suggested become tiresome. They attempt to prove their worth and only succeed in creating more trouble. They come for revenge and make a mess. I don't like to criticise my colleges, but the idea of putting an assassin as high-profile as Gregorovich on a minor operation such as this – and pairing him with Ash, no less! – was rather unwise. It was necessary to get rid of her somehow.'

There was a silence, but nobody broke it, so Dr Three spoke again. 'I consider this outcome preferable to killing her,' he said. 'You know what it is like when somebody high up in an organisation is removed. Little things that they used to be in charge of suddenly have to be reallocated; agents and contacts who had a link to them become uncooperative or even try to make trouble. Then they have to be dealt with, and that depletes human resources…much better to, ah, _persuade_ her to quietly step down.'

'Does she _remember_?' Levi Kroll had found his voice at last. He looked pale.

'The doctors are not sure exactly how much she knows,' Dr Three replied. 'The surgery is still experimental. However, I know that they placed the emphasis on, shall we say, changing her outlook, rather than leaving gaping holes in her memory, which, apparently, a subject tends to notice. As far as I can make out, she just doesn't see things in quite the same way as we do any more. As far as she is concerned, she was once a member of the board and now she is not, and it does not occur to her to wonder why. She seems perfectly content.' He gave a small, satisfied nod, steepling his fingers. 'She is still perfectly happy to discuss operational matters with me; she can even, with a little careful handling, be allowed to convey instructions to agents. We won't have any trouble from her personal contacts, as I said. And, of course, it saves our finding a secure tea lady.'

'Ahem.' Kurst cleared his throat. 'Thank you, Doctor Three. The search for Ash will continue, Foster and Gregorovich can be left to themselves, and Mrs Rothman…has been taken care of. That is all most satisfactory.'

He and Dr Three looked steadily at one another along the length of the table, and he knew that each could see past the other's poker face. The solution to the problem of Julia Rothman was an admirable one, but still he was uneasy. Criminals never trusted one another any more, and after today they would trust each other even less.

Every other member's eyes were still fixed on the door, and Kurst knew that each of them was wondering if they were seeing their own future behind the panelled wood.

Mrs Rothman stepped out into the street and looked up at the grey January sky. Chilly puffs of wind were gusting down the street, and as she watched drops of moisture began so speckle the pavement.

'Oh dear,' she said to the nearest passer-by. 'It's starting to rain.'

'The weather in this country,' he agreed, stopping beside her and opening a large, black umbrella. 'Are you crossing the street? Here, you might as well stay dry.'

'Thank you, dear,' Mrs Rothman smiled. The man offered her his arm, she stepped under the umbrella, and they crossed the road together when the light turned green.

They walked arm in arm as far as a brick bus shelter at the side of the road.

'This is where I stop,' Mrs Rothman said, stepping inside. 'Are you catching a bus?'

'No.' The man shook his head. 'I have a vehicle parked at the edge of town.'

'Really? That's quite a walk.'

'Yeah, but I like walking,' the man said, grinning. He spoke with a slight Australian accent, Mrs Rothman noticed. Now that they were no longer walking side by side and she could look into his face, she saw that his chin and mouth were covered in a thick black scarf, and that he wore the hood of his coat up, throwing his face into shadow. That was all perfectly normal for the time of year, but as she looked into his overcast eyes, they seemed to be glittering strangely. She wondered if she was having one of her funny turns. Those eyes were frightening…

Then suddenly something fell into place in her mind, and she smiled. As he took in her expression the man's face became troubled in its turn. He stared at her from beneath his umbrella, trying to make her out exactly as she had been doing to him a second ago.

Mrs Rothman chuckled. 'Don't worry, dear,' she said. 'I won't tell.'

The man frowned for a moment more, but then he smoothed his expression out and smiled. 'Thanks. It was nice to have met you.'

'You too,' she called after him as he turned and strode off up the darkening road.

He moved at a brisk walk which wouldn't have struck anyone he passed as out of the ordinary. A person following him, however, might have been surprised to find that even though it was a good two and a half miles to the town border, he never once slowed his pace, even when the road began to slope uphill. He walked on past the last of the houses, ignored the public car park and ducked through the hedge into a little stand of trees. They were almost bare now, only a few dead leaves clinging to the branches, but as he pushed deeper even the bare twigs were enough to block out most of the fading daylight, creating a dim bolthole that was soothing and safe.

The man flung off the trench coat which had made him look vaguely respectable, revealing a crumpled and travel-stained set of clothes underneath. He bundled up the coat and pushed it into a large hiker's rucksack which he had produced from beneath a cover of brambles. He shrugged the rucksack on and then rummaged in the leaf litter, pushing the brown leaves aside until he had unearthed the vehicle he had brought to town.

A hoverboard.

He didn't know what had compelled him to risk going right up to one of Scorpia's safe houses. It was a dangerous thing to do, even though he was sure he could out-strip any agent they sent after him now. Speaking to Julia Rothman had been doubly reckless, but when he had seen her in the street he hadn't been able to believe his eyes. He had had to speak to her to make sure. And he would have still believed he was mistaken if she hadn't recognised him.

In a way, though, he wasn't surprised at all. That was what Scorpia did to all its people in the end. They had killed Max Grendel when he wanted to retire. They had sent him himself after Yassen Gregorovich when they believed Yassen was no longer useful. And now Julia Rothman had become another victim of her own experiments. Yet in a way, he wondered whether he should really be pitying her. Was her past life something any person would really want to remember?

Either way, they were both out of it now.

Free from Scorpia, free from MI6, and free at last from John and Alex Rider, Ash urged his hoverboard up into the air and swept off down the dark road, into the night.


	36. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**Disclaimer: **Alas, I still own Alex Rider not.

**A/N: I here present to you the final chapter of a fic which has taken me round about three years to complete. Actually that averages out at one chapter a month, which doesn't sound so bad on the surface, but when you consider the length of the earlier chapters and the gaps between some of them…six frickin' months…*headhands***

'**Band Together' is like one of those core samples of ice they take from the south pole to check the gas levels over the last thousand years, only instead it's the quality of my writing over the last three years. I think I am *better* than I was then, better being a comparative word. But am I good? That, dear reader, is up to you to decide.**

**I would like to take this opportunity to shout out to a few people: **saremisam17**, lately **Rider Girl9**, who was pretty much my first fan, **The Feral Candy Cane**, my friend in the fandom, **ReillyScarecrowRocks**, **bubzchoc**, **CHiKa-RoXy**, **jesusfreak100percent** and anyone else who's been turning up regularly in the review list (if I haven't mentioned you, doesn't mean I don't appreciate and care! There are a lot of reviews to go through here!), **deets1** for that time when you reviewed like every chapter, any of my early reviewers who got me through the first leg of the journey, if you're still around, **The Ice Within **for the final push, and literally EVERYONE who reviewed and gave me the confidence to use OCs. And to **completely anonymous reviewer** and that other person whom I've lost, whoever you were, both of whom said they didn't like Clara, it's time I confessed:**

**Clara was my self-insert all along.**

**That is all.**

'Starbucks coffee,' Clara said, 'is always too sweet.'

'Sugar is good for you,' Alex retorted. He took a deep gulp of hot chocolate and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. Outside the café people were hurrying up and down the rain-lashed street, and the shop windows were screaming with red posters advertising the January sales, but their table was a haven of quiet and warmth. Alex wondered whether it was Starbucks' atmospheric décor that was responsible, or whether it was more to do with the people he was with.

Roberta was sniggering.

'What?' Alex asked, opening one eye to scowl at her.

'You have whipped cream on your nose,' she smirked.

'_I want it with whipped cream on it, baby, gimme gimme gimme your love_…' Taylor sang in falsetto. Alex thumped him, touched his tongue to his nose and crossed his eyes at Roberta.

It sounded silly and melodramatic, but over the last few weeks it had been difficult to be apart.

'Alex!' the headmaster of Clara's school had said when Alex and Jack had met with him a few days before the start of term. 'I was under the impression that you would only be with us until Christmas.'

'Yes, I know, Sir…my personal situation's changed and…I'm not really sure what's happening at the moment, honestly, but for now I'd like to carry on here into the new year. If that's alright.'

He still hadn't made up his mind completely about moving. Even though Brookland had been soured by MI6 and all the lies he'd had to tell, it was still _Brookland_ – he'd been going there since he was eleven. And there was Jack to think of, too. Even though London was still a strange city to her, it was more home than some completely unknown town in Essex. There was Tom, James, the old house in Chelsea…if he was ever going to move, it would be hard.

But maybe this was what he needed. A completely fresh start. He could relax into this new school, make other friends, and if MI6 didn't call him again, nothing would spoil it. And if they did…well, at least the Non-Conformists knew the truth.

Alex pushed the big questions away. Right now, at the end of a first week back at school which seemed to have left all the students more exhausted than they'd been before the holiday, it was nice to just be hanging out, drinking Starbucks' special 'seasonal' coffees and pretending it was still Christmas. Josh was sketching on a napkin without much purpose, just controlling the line and enjoying the texture of pastel sliding onto paper. Jane was sitting beside him, her hands curled for warmth around a cup of loose-leaf tea. She sipped the last few mouthfuls and set the cup down.

'Shall we?' Clara said, rising. Taylor got to his feet next, stretching on tip-toe with his hands clasped above his head. It still struck Alex from time to time how _tall_ he was.

Taylor saw him looking. 'Midget,' he grinned, scuffing Alex's hair. Alex beat him off and they stepped out into the street.

'Horrible weather,' Clara said, staring up into the grey sky. Most people were hurrying along without pausing, eager to get out of the cold, but a little way down the road three men were standing still around an _Army Jobs_ stall, hands thrust deep into their pockets. 'I don't envy those guys…hullo?'

'Is that…?' Jane said, peering through the drizzle. 'Hey, Alex, it's your army guys! K Unit!'

They hurried down the street and Alex called out. 'Hey, Ben – Fox! Snake, Eagle!'

The three SAS men turned, and their faces visibly fell. Alex raised an eyebrow.

'Good to see you too,' he said. 'What're you doing?'

'What does it look like?' Ben Daniels growled. He thrust a leaflet at Alex. 'Join the army?'

Something clicked into place in Alex's head. He grinned broadly. 'Recruitment?'

'Oh, shut up, Cub,' Eagle muttered.

'So, your superiors weren't too happy?' Alex asked.

'Bloody hell,' Snake said. "_Completely irresponsible…treasonable recklessness…disgrace to the military…_" I thought we were going to get shot. Completely humiliating.'

'Ignore it,' Roberta said unexpectedly. 'Bloody megalomaniac-shoot-first-ask-questions-afterwards-control-freak generals. Never act except in accordance with the correct procedure…whatever. As a kidnapping victim, I was satisfied with the response of the SAS.'

'And as an assassination target, so was I,' Clara agreed. 'Though…maybe not at the time. But now I am.'

'It's not so bad,' I suppose,' Snake said. 'Better than getting shot at and we'd probably be somewhere cold and wet no matter what, so…'

Fox interrupted him explosively. 'Of course I prefer handing out leaflets to getting shot at; heck, somebody's got to do it; but I prefer being shot at to _being laughed at_! God, the lads back at base – '

'And the kids on the street are godawful too,' Eagle said. 'Either wise-arses who go on about why they don't want to be in the army or really dense ones who ask _questions_…stupid questions. Though actually…' he suddenly chuckled. '…Wolf has it worse.'

'Yeah; where is Wolf?' Alex asked.

'Oh Cub, you're going to love this.' Eagle tapped him on the shoulder, bringing him in closer. The others leaned in as well. 'He's been made a training officer.'

'Training…?' Alex started to smile.

'It's his job to whip all the horrible little brats out of bed and prowl the aisles at breakfast making sure they don't kill each other and yell at them during training when the sergeant's voice-box needs a break. And it is _hilarious_.'

'Poor chap,' Clara said.

'He complains like anything,' Eagle nodded. 'But actually, I think he's getting quite attached to those kids. It'd be ironic if he'd found his calling, wouldn't it?'

'Very,' Alex agreed. He sighed a little.

Fox caught his mood. 'Hey Cub, don't feel too bad for us, yeah? We got off lightly. And it was a cracking good adventure, wasn't it, chaps?' he added in an exaggerated English accent.

They all laughed, and then waved goodbye to K Unit and tramped on up the street to where Clara's car was waiting.

When they reached her house, there was a letter lying on the doormat.

'Airmail,' Clara said, picking it up. 'Postmark from Austria…'

Alex felt Roberta change posture beside him. Clara, pretending not to notice, slit the envelope open and unfolded the sheets of close-lined, elegant handwriting inside. She flipped to the end and checked the signature, the others looking over her shoulder.

'Yassen,' she said.

It was odd to see the name written out there, in the assassin's own hand. Alex swallowed once, then said,

'Read it out, then.'

Clara sat down at the kitchen table and the others settled around her. 'Um. First there's a little preliminary bit to me…_I expect that the house where Alex was staying belongs to MI6, so I will be grateful if you pass it on_, blah blah blah…ah, here's the main bit.

' "_Dear Alex, Roberta, Taylor, Josh, Clara and Jane,_

_I apologise for not writing more promptly after I left, but I thought it best to let my trail go cold before I risked communicating. In addition, this letter may have taken a while to reach you, since I have passed it back through a few contacts for safety's sake. I enclose an address to which you may reply, if you feel so inclined._

_So, what news? Forgive me; it has been a while since I wrote a purely sociable letter. I will describe my current place of residence to you, since I think you would all enjoy it; in fact it is wasted on me by comparison. With the help of certain friends I made my way to France, and then through the mountains from Switzerland into Austria. I am sure Clara would have been able to make a good story out of the hike, which was…exciting. We skied down to a town which I will not name, where Christmas and New Year celebrations have been in full swing. There are lights, mulled wine, roasted chestnuts, gingerbread, dancing, live music. Snow." '_

Roberta took a breath.

' "_As I said, you would all be in your element here. I am sure you could knock spots off the group I heard play last night, at least as far as technique is concerned. As regards style, I hope that you will not confine your considerable talents to popular music only."_ Isn't that gratifying,' Clara interrupted herself. 'That's a point; we could have a little chamber choir going here if we wanted.'

'Oh God,' Alex said. 'Read on.'

' "_It is a pleasant place to pause and take stock of what I suppose is a life in ruins, but does not feel like one. There is skiing and ice-skating, which for once do not feel like training, and all the culture one could ask for. I may be dead tomorrow, but then so might any of us, and I find that I do not particularly care. Not because I am tired of life, but because of a thought which occurred to me the last time I was with all of you. It is this: life is there to be _spent. _All humans preserve themselves carefully from risk, and none more carefully than assassins, but presumably this is so that they will not 'waste' their life on being shot, or run over, and have it to 'spend' on something else. And 'spending,' in the end, involves risk. If one spends one's whole life protecting oneself, one will have little time to spend on anything else. I have decided to stop watching my back and enjoy myself, and if you, Clara, decide that you want to spend your life publishing controversial poetry and being shot at for it, I shall not criticise you."_

'Then there's a little note like that to each of us,' Clara finished. She passed the paper to Jane first.

"_Jane_," she read silently, _"it was very astute of you to notice from the callouses on my fingers that I was a violinist. Despite what I said about being tired of watching my back, I still approve of good observation. Have you ever considered working in intelligence?"_

'If so, stop now,' Jane added quietly to herself, and handed the letter to Taylor.

"_I am fond of music," _his note read. _"I know what a good voice sounds like. You have one. I wish you good luck in pursuing what I am sure will be an illustrious career in singing."_

"_Josh, I am impressed."_

"_Roberta, I would not be good at writing a love note, and I doubt you would be good at receiving one. I will simply say this: you seem to question the worth of the world and life in it, but I assure you they are worth something; you are in them. Even when you don't feel like it, carry on as you are for others' sake; they need your ability and your brilliance."_

Alex took the last page of the letter somewhat apprehensively, swallowed and read:

"_Having spent a little more time with you, Alex, I think I would approve of you just as much had I not known your father. My regards for the future, and for goodness' sake remember to keep your weight on the back foot when you kick. _

"_Yassen."_

'Well,' Alex said. He folded the letter. It was the last thing he had expected, but his throat felt a little tight. He coughed once and then looked around. 'Um. Philosophical letter.'

'I like him,' Clara said, smiling vaguely.

'You, my dear soprano, are insane,' Taylor said. Clara laughed and looped her arm through his.

'Cool guy,' Josh said. 'Probably evil. Cool guy, though. Fascinating bone structure.'

'I wonder when we'll be seeing him again,' Jane said.

Alex sat up straighter. It had occurred to him that they might, of course, but to hear it suggested so matter-of-factly, as something expected…Clara, however, didn't look surprised at all. As she gazed off into the middle distance, the light caught her eyes for a moment, giving them a bright, sudden gleam.

'Where,' she agreed, 'and under what circumstances?'

_**Fin**_

**A/N: Oh my holy blibble I can't believe it's over.**

**I felt that that last chapter fell a little flat, as mushy everything-is-happy-winding-up chapters tend to do (but wouldn't from a real author! *breaks into cold sweat*). If I'd been really on the ball I think I would have had to hint at/set up some new adventure at the end there, but I have no idea what a new adventure would be, so I can't. I think it's likely, however, that you will be hearing from the Non-Conformists again in the future. The next time I can be bothered with an epically long complicated Magnum Opus. Be warned: it will probably be a crossover with some obscure anime, if there is a next time. And have magic in it. Which means that history will be rewritten and the rules will totally change.**

**And it probably won't happen for ages. And will take ages to happen. Since I have A levels and uni and jobs…**

**But happen it will! And it will involve Yassen! Clara knows!**

**True**


End file.
